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HANOVER; 

OR 

PERSECUTION  OF  THE  LOWLY. 

Story  of  the  Wilmington  Massacre 


,■*♦        r 


JACK  THORNK 


Published  by  M.  C.  I.  Hill. 


-^ 


(13*1  fiO 


Respectfully  dedicated   to 
the  eminent  heroine 
Ida  B.  W   t.,  -  Barnf.tt 


P    I  > 


NEGROES    ELEEIXG  FROM  WILMINGTON. 

Driven  out  by  Organized  Bands  of  "Red  Shirts."  Obnoxious 
White  Men  Al-,0  Ordered  to  get  out  ok  Town.  No 
Lynching  Allowed.  Mayor  Waddeli.  and  his  Police 
Prevent  Further  Killing.  Rule  of  Whites  now  Pre- 
vail. Three  Hundred  Policemen  Sworn  in  to  Pre- 
serve Order — No  Collision  Between  the  Races  Ex- 
pected.    No  TRADe  at  Wilmington. 


[Associated  Pre?s  Market   Report 

Wilmington,  N.  C,  Nov.  ii — Spirits  turpentine — Nothing  doing. 

Rosin — Nothing  doing. 

Crude  turpentine — Nothing  doing. 

Wilmington,  Now  n, — With  the  killing  of  the  Negroes  yester- 
day the  backbone  of  the  trouble  seems  to  have  been  brol  The 
authors  of  the  tragedy  have  gone  to  their  homes  and  the  mob  has 
disbanded  as  if  in  contempt  of  the  gangs  of  Negroes  who  still  hang 
about  in  the  black  quarters  growling  and  threatening  the  White? 

Law  and  order  are  gradually  being  restored;  and  those  ^mong  the 
Negroes  who  feel  resentment  against  the  whiles  are  afraid  to  show 
their  true  colors. 

Early  this  morning  300  resolute  white  men  gathered  ;.*  tin-  Mayi 
or's  office  and  were  sworn  in  as  new  policemen 

Late  last  night  half  a  hundred  white  citizens  got  together  and 
planned  a  big  lynching  party  which  was  to  raid  the  city  from  centre 
to  circumference  to-day. 

There  were  six  Negroes  in  jail  who  had  been  arrested  during  the 
excitement  of  the  day,  and  who  some  people  of  the  town  thought 
should  be  summarily  dispatch. d.  One  was  a  leader,  Thomas  Mil 
Jer,  who  was  charged  with  declaring  that  he  would  wash  his  hands  in 
a  white  man's  blood  before  night.  Another  was  A.  R.  Bryant, 
charged  with  being  a  dangerous  character;  the  others  were  less  prom- 
inent, but  had  been  under  the  ban  of  the  whites  for  conduct  calcu- 
lated to  incite  trouble. 

Mayor  Waddeli  and  his  associates  put  a  veto  upon  the  proposed 
lynching.     They  said  that  good  government  was  to  prevail  in  Wil- 


0, 
■0^ 


4  PROLOGUE. 

mington  from  this  time,  and  would  commence  immediately.  The 
would-be  lynchers  were  so  insistent  that  the  Mayor  called  out  a  guard 
and  kept  the  jail  surrounded  all  night.  This  morning  the  six  Ne- 
groes wepe  taken  out  and  escorted  to  the  north  bound  train  by  a  de- 
tachment of  mffTtia,  to  be  banished  from  the  city.  The  citizens  cheered 
as  they  saw  them  going,  for  they  considered  their  departure  con- 
ducive to  peace  in  the  future. 

G.  Z.  French,  one  of  the  county  leaders,  attempted  to  escape 
He  ran  through  the  streets,  but  was  overtaken  at  the  depot  by  sev 
eral  members  of  the  posse. 

A  noose  was  thrown  over  his  head  and  was  drawn  tightly  around 
his  neck.  Gasping  and  half  choked,  he  fell  upon  his  knees,  beg- 
ging for  his  life. 

NEGRO  BEGS  FOR  LIFE. 

"Do  you  solemnly  promise  that  you  will  leave  and  never  come 
back?' '  asked  the  leader  of  the  possee. 

"Oh,  yes;  yes.  For  God's  sake,  gentlemen,  let  me  go,  and  I'll 
never  come  back  any  more!" 

The  frightened  wretch  was  allowed  to  go  and  crawled  aboard  the 
•.rain,  s—ied  half  to  death. 

After  finishing  with  French  the  "red  shirts"  made  a  raid  on  Jus- 
tus hunting's  residence.  He  was  away  from  home.  The  mob  tore 
from  the  .vails  of  his  house  the  picture  of  his  Negro  wife  and  that 
of  Punting,  and  put  them  on  exhibition  on  Market  street. 

They  weiv.  labelled:  "R.  H.  Bunting,  white,"  and  "Mrs.  R.  H. 
Bunting,  colored."  From  Bunting's  residence  the  mob  proceeded 
to  the  house  of  a  Negro  lawyer  named  Henderson.  The  hard- 
knuckled  leader  knocked  at  the  door.  "Whose  there?"  came  the 
query.  "A  white  man  and  a  friend,"  was  the  reply.  Inside  there 
was  the  deep  silence  of  hesitation.  "Open  the  door  or  we'll  break 
it  down,"  shouted  the  leader.  Henderson,  badly  frightened,  opened 
the  door. 

"We  want  you  to  leave  the  city  by  9  o'clock  Sunday  morning," 
said  the  leader. 

"All  right,"  replied  Henderson,  "all  I  want  is  time  enough  to  get 
my  things  in  order. ' ' 

A  Negro  lawyer  named  Scott  was  also  banished  and  left  the  city 
before  morning. 

The  Democrats  hired  one  of  Pinkerton's  Negro  detectives  to 
associate  with  the  Negroes  several  weeks,  and  his  investigation,  it  is 
said,  revealed  that  the  two  lawyers  and  the  other  Negroes  men- 
tioned were  ringleaders,  who  were  inciting  their  race  lo  violence, 


PROLOGUE. 


WHITE    MEN     MUST    GO    TOO. 


The  retiring  chie'"  of  police,  Magistrate  R.  H.  Bunting,  Charles 
H.  Gilbert,  Charles  McAlister,  all  white  Republicans,  and  many 
asserrive  Negroes,  who  are  considered  dangerous  to  the  peace  of  the 
community,  are  now  under  guard  and  are  to  be  banished  from  the 
city. 

The  Negro  Carter  Peaman,  who  was  exiled  last  night,  got  off  the 
train  several  miles  from  the  city  and  was  shot  dead. 

A  report  is  current  that  John  C.  Dancy,  the  Neero  United  States 
Collector  of  Customs  for  this  port,  has  been  notified  to  leave  the 
city  and  will  be  waited  upon  if  orders  are  not  summarily  obeyed. 

TJie  city  is  now  under  thorough  military  and  police  protection 
and  there  is  no  indication  of  further  outbreaks. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Introductory  Note. 


On  the  Cape  Fear  River,  about  thirty  miles  from  the  East  coast  of 
North  Carolina  rests  the  beautiful  city  of  Wilmington. 

Wilmington  is  the  metropolis;  the  most  important  city  of  the  old 
North  State,  and  in  fact,  is  one  of  the  chief  seaports  of  the  Atlantic 
coast.  The  city  lies  on  the  East  bank  of  the  river,  extending  mainly 
Northward  and  Southward.  Market  Street,  the  centre  and  main 
thoroughfare  of  the  city,  wide  and  beautiful,  begins  at  the  river  front 
and  gradually  climbs  a  hill  Eastward,  so  persistently  straight,  that  the 
first  rays  of  a  Summer's  morning'  sun  kiss  the  profusion  of  oak  and 
cedar  trees  that  border  it;  and  the  evening  sun  seems  to  linger  in  the 
Western  heavens,  loath  to  bid  adieu  to  that  foliage-covered  crest. 

Wilmington  is  the  Mecca  for  North  Carolina's  interior  inhabitants 
who  flock  thither  to  breathe  in  its  life-giving  ocean  breezes  when 
Summer's  torrid  air  becomes  unbearable,  and  lazy  Lawrence  dances 
'  .  ieri;;gl;  before  the  eyes.  The  Winter  climate  is  temperate,  but 
not  ingenial  to  Northern  tourists,  who  like  swallows,  only  alight 
there  for  a  brief  rest,  and  to  look  around  on  their  journeying  to  and 
from  the  far  South:  yet  Wilmington  is  cosmopolitan;  There  dwells 
the  thrifty  Yankee,  the  prosperous  Jew,  the  patient  and  docile  Negro, 
the  enterprising,  cunning  and  scrupulous  German;  and  among  her 
first  families  are  the  Scotch-Irish,  descendants  of  the  survivors  of 
Culloden.  Wilmington  suckled  children  who  rallied  under  Scott  in 
Mexico,  heard  the  thunderings  at  Monterey,  and  the  immortal  Alamo. 
When  the  civil  strife  of  four  years  was  nearing  its  close,  when  the 
enemies  to  the  Union  of  States,  sullen  and  vindictive,  were  retreating 
before  an  invading  army,  Wilmington,  nestling  behind  Fort  Fisher, 
one  of  the  most  formidable  fortresses  ever  contrived,  was  shaken  by 
some  of  the  most  terrific  bombarding  that  ever  took  place  on  earth. 

"  Then  thronged  the  citizens  with  tenor  dumb 

Or  Whisperi   g  with  white  lips,  '  I'he  foe!  they  come!  they  come!" 

Wilmington,  the  scene  of  one  of  the  last  desperate  stands  of  a  demor- 
alized army,  witnessed  the  "memorizing  of  Golgotha"  as  her  sons 
desperately  struggled  to  resist  a  conquering  foe.  In  Oak  Dale  Ceme- 
tery on  the   Northeastern  boundary  of  the  city  sleep  a  few  of  the 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

principal  actors  in  that  tragedy.  There  rests  noble  James;  there 
rests  Colonel  Hall — grand  old  Roman !  I  am  glad  he  did  not  live  to 
see  the  roth  of  November,  1898,  lest  he  should  have  been  tempted 
to  join  that  mob  of  misguided  citizens  whose  deeds  of  cowardice 
plunged  that  city,  noted  for  its  equity,  into  an  abyss  of  infamy. 
Southward  from  Oak  Dale  Cemetery  awaiting  the  final  reveille,  are 
calmly  sleeping  not  a  few  of  that  Grand  Army  who  fell  m  the  arms  of 
victory  at  Fort  Fisher. 

During  the  slave  period,  North  Carolina  could  not  be  classed  with 
South  Carolina,  Georgia,  and  other  far  Southern  States  in  cruelty  and 
inhumanity  to  its  slave  population ;  and  in  Wilmington  and  vicinity, 
the  pillage  of  a  victorious  army,  and  the  Reconstruction  period  were 
borne  with  resignation.  Former  master  and  freedman  vied  with  each 
other  in  bringing  order  out  of  chaos,  building  up  waste  places,  and 
recovering  lost  fortunes.  Up  to  but  a  few  years  ago,  the  best  feeling 
among  the  races  prevailed  in  Wilmington;  the  Negro  and  his  white 
brother  walked  their  beats  together  on  the  police  force;  white  and 
black  aldermen,  white  mayor  and  black  chief  of  police,  white  and 
black  school  committeemen  sat  together  in  council;  white  and  black 
mechanics  worked  together  on  the  same  buildings,  and  at  the  same 
bench;  white  and  black  teachers  taught  in  the  same  schools.  Preach- 
ers, lawyers  and  physicians  were  cordial  in  their  greetings  one  toward 
the  other,  and  general  good-feeling  prevailed.  Negroes  worked, 
saved,  bought  lands  and  built  houses.  Old  wooden  meeting  houses 
were  torn  down,  and  handsome  brick  churches  went  up  in  their 
places.  Let  the  prejudiced  scoffer  say  what  he  will,  the  Negro  has 
done  his  full  share  in  making  the  now  illfated  city  blossom  as  the 
rose.  We  who  have  for  so  many  years  made  our  abode  elsewhere, 
have  made  our  boast  in  Wilmington  as  being  ahead  of  all  other 
Southern  cities  in  the  recognition  of  the  citizenship  of  all  of  her 
inhabitants;  unstained  by  such  acts  of  violence  that  had  disgraced 
other  communities.  To  be  laid  to  rest  'neath  North  Carolina  pines 
has  been  the  wish  of  nearly  every  pilgrim  who  has  left  that  clear  old 
home.  All  this  is  changed  now;  That  old  city  is  no  longer  dear. 
The  spoiler  is  among  the  works  of  God.  Since  ihe  massacre  on  the 
10th  of  November,  1898,  over  one  thousand  of  Wilmington's  most 
respected  taxpaying  citizens  have  sold  and  given  away  their  belong- 
ings, and  like  Lot  fleeing  from  Sodom,  have  hastened  away.  The 
lawyer  left  his  client,  the  physician  his  patients,  the  carpenter  his 
work-bench,  the  shoemaker  his  tools — all  have  fled,  fled  for  their 
lives;  fled  to  escape  murder  and  pillage,  intimidation  and  insult  at 
hands  of  a  bloodthirsty  mob  of  ignorant  descendants  of  England's 
indentured  slaves,  fanned  into  frenzy  by  their  more  intelligent  leaders 


8  INTRODUCTION 

whose  murderous  schemes  to  obtain  office  worked  charmingly. 
Legally  elected  officers  have  been  driven  from  the  city  which  is  now 
ruled  by  a  banditti  whose  safety  in  office  is  now  threatened  by  the 
disappointed  poor  whites  whose  aid  was  secured  in  driving  out  wealthy 
Negroes  on  the  promise  that  the  Negroes'  property  should  be  turned 
over  to  them. 

What    has   wrought    all  this  havoc  in  the  city  once  so  peaceful? 
Rev.  A.    J.  McKelway  of  Charlotte,  Editor  of  the  North    Carolina 
Presbyterian,  in  an  article  published  in  the  New  York  Independent  of 
November,    1898,   explains  as    follows: — "In    1897    was    passed    at 
Governor  Russell's  wish  and  over  the  protest  of  the  Western  Repub- 
licans, a  bill  to  amend  the  charter  of  the  city.      If  there  had  been  any 
condition   of  bad  or  inefficient  government,  there  might  have  been 
some  excuse  for  this  actio;- ;  but  the  city  was  admirably  governed  by 
those  who  were  most  interested  in  her  growth  and  welfare.      Here  is 
the  law  that  is  responsible  for  the  bloodshed  recently  in  Wilmington:" 
"Be  it  Enacted,   That  there  shall  be  elected  by  the  qualified 
voters  of  each  ward  one  Alderman  only,  and  there  shall  be  ap- 
pointed by  the  Governor  one  Alderman  for  each  ward,  and  the 
Board  of  Aldermen  thus  constituted  shall  elect  a  Mayor  accord- 
ing to  the  laws  declared  to  be  in  force  by  this  act. ' ' 
"  It  will  be  readily  seen  that,   combining  with  those  elected  from 
the  Negro  wards,  it  was  easy  for  the  appointees  of  the  Governor  to 
elect  the  Mayor  and  appoint  the  other  city  officers." 

"When  the  new  Board  took  possession  there  were  found  to  be 
three  Aldermen,  fourteen  policemen,  seventeen  officers  in  the  fire 
department,  four  deputy  sheriffs,  and  forty  Negro  magistrates  be- 
sides. It  is  probable  that  not  one  of  these  was  qualified  to  fill  his 
office.  The  new  government  soon  found  itself  incapable  of  govern- 
ing. It  could  not  control  its  own.  The  homes  of  the  people  were 
at  the  mercy  of  thieves,  burglars  and  incendiaries,  and  the  police 
were  either  absolutely  incapable  of  preventing  crime,  or  connived  at 
it.  White  women  were  insulted  on  the  streets  in  broad  daylight  by 
Negro  men,  and  on  more  than  one  occasion  slapped  in  the  face  by 
Negro  women  on    no  provocation.  *         *         *         *         White 

people  began  to  arm  themselves  for  the  protection  of  their  lives  and 
property.  *         *         *         *         In    the   city    of  Wilmington    it 

has  been  found  upon  investigation,  that  the  Negroes  own  5  percent, 
of  the  property,  and  pay  5  per  cent,  of  the  taxes.      *         *         * 

"The  Negro  editor  publicly  charged  to  the  white  women  of  the 
South  equal  blame  for  the  unspeakable  crime,  etc." 

The  Rev.  Mr.  McKelway  has  worded  his  defense  well;  but  in  giv- 
ing a  plausible  excuse  for  the  crime  of  Nov.  10th,  he  makes  a  dismal 


INTRODUCTION.  9 

failure.  A  mob  headed  by  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  and  a  hoary- 
headed  deacon,  after  cutting  off  every  avenue  of  escape  and  de- 
fense, and  after  the  government  had  been  surrendered  to  them  as  a 
peace  offering,  wantonly  kilis  and  butchers  their  brethren,  is  without 
parallel  in  a  Christian  community,  and  the  more  Mr.  McKelwav 
seeks  to  excuse  such  a  deed,  the  blacker  it  appears. 

The  Hon.  Judsnn  Lyon,  Register  of  the  United  States  Treasury, 
in  his  reply  to  Senator  McLaurin  in  the  New  York  Herald,  says 
truthfully:  "In  Wilmington,  N.  C,  albeit  the  Executive  as  a  leadtr 
of  his  party  had  backed  down  and  surrendered  everything  as  a  peace 
offering,  and  the  democracy,  if  that  is  what  they  call  themselves, 
had  carried  the  day,  still  the  main  thoroughfares  of  that  city  were 
choked  with  armed  men.  They  destroyed  personal  property,  they 
burned  houses,  they  wantonly  took  more  than  a  dozen  lives,  they 
drove  thousands  to  the  woods  where  nearly  a  dozen  infants  were 
born  and  died  in  many  instances,  with  their  mothers  the  victims  of 
exposure  as  the  result  of  the  cruelty  of  people  who  call  themselves 
democrats  and  patriots.  Weyler  in  his  maddest  moments  was  hardly 
more  barbarous. 

"In  the  city  of  Wilmington,  where  so  much  innocent  blood  had 
been  spilled  and  so  many  valuable  lives  had  been  taken  by  that 
furious  mob,  see  what  are  the  facts: 

There  were  ten  members  of  the  Board  of  Aldermen,  seven  of 
these  white  and  three  colored;  there  were  twenty-six  policemen,  six- 
teen white  and  ten  colored,  the  chief  being  white  and  a  native  of 
the  State,  city  Attorney  a  white  Republican,  city  clerk  and  treasurer, 
white,  with  colored  clerk.  Turnkeys  and  janitors  white  Republicans 
with  colored  assistants,  Superintendent  of  Streets  a  white  man,  Su- 
perintendent of  garbage  carts  a  white  man,  Clerk  of  Front  Street 
Market,  a  white  man,  Clerk  of  Fourth  Street  Market,  a  white  man, 
Superintendent  of  Health,  a  white  Democrat,  two  lot  inspectors, 
colored  men,  Chief  of  Fire  Department  and  Assistant  chief,  both 
white  Democrats.  There  are  three  white  fire  companies  and  two 
colored.  Superintendent  of  City  Hospital  is  a  white  Democrat 
with  white  nurses  for  white  wards,  and  colored  nurses  for  colored 
wards.  The  school  committees  have  always  had  two  white  members 
and  one  colored.  Superintendent  of  Public  Schools  is  a  white  Dem- 
ocrat. 

Now,  will  somebody  point  out  where  that  awful  thing  that  is  iter- 
ated and  reiterated  so  much,  to  wit,  NEGRO  DOMINATION  ex- 
isted under  this  showing  in  the  swwmunicipality  of  Wilmington.'1*1 

The  men  who  were  driven  from  the  city  by  the  mob,  with  but  few 
exceptions,  had  no  political  following,  nor  political  aspirations. 


10  INTRODUCTION. 

It  has  always  been  the  rule  with  mobs  to  villify  their  victims,  as- 
sail their  characters  in  the  most  shameful  manner  in  justification  of 
their  murder.  But  an  attack  upon  the  character  and  integrity  of  the 
Negroes  of  Wilmington,  in  order  to  justify  the  massacre  of  Nov. 
ioth,  shall  not  go  unchallenged.  If  what  I  write  should  raise  a 
howl  of  protest  and  call  another  ex-Governor  Northern  to  Boston  to 
brand  it  as  a  lie,  it  is  nevertheless  a  truthful  statement  of  the  causes 
that  led  up  to  the  doings  of  the  ioth  of  November,  and  although  I 
shall  fictitiously  name  some  of  the  star  actors  in  this  tragedy  and 
the  shifters  of  the  scenes,  I  can  call  them  all  by  their  names  and 
point  them  out.  It  will  be  proven  that  the  massacre  of  Nov.  ioth, 
1898,  had  been  carefully  planned  by  the  leading  wealthy  citizens  of 
Wilmington,  and  that  over  thirty  thousand  dollars  was  subscribed  to 
buy  arms  and  ammunition  to  equip  every  man  and  boy  of  the  white 
race,  rich  and  poor;  that  secret  dispatches  were  sent  to  sympathizers 
in  adjoining  States  and  communities  to  come  in  and  assist  in  making 
the  ioth  of  November,  1898,  a  second  Bartholomew's  eve  in  the 
history  of  the  world,  by  the  wholesale  killing  of  black  citizens  after 
every  means  of  defense  had  been  cut  off;  that  black  men  and  wo- 
men for  banishment  and  slaughter  had  been  carefully  listed;  that 
clubs  and  clans  of  assassins  had  been  organized  and  drilled  in  signals 
and  tactics;  that  the  aid  of  the  State  militia  and  the  Naval  Reserves 
had  been  solicited  to  enter  Wilmington  on  the  ioth  of  November  to 
assist  in  disarming  every  Negro,  and  aiding  in  his  slaughter  and  ban- 
ishment. That  the  intervention  of  Providence  in  the  earnest  and 
persistent  entreaties  of  white  citizens  who  were  too  nobly  bred  to 
stoop  so  low,  and  the  strategy  and  cunning  of  the  Negro  himself, 
frustrated  the  carrying  out  to  its  fullest  intent,  one  of  the  most  in- 
famous and  cowardly  deeds  ever  planned. 


THE  EDITOR. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  Editor. 

'•I  will  not  retract!  Xo!  Not  a  single  sentence!  I  have  told  the 
truth.  This  woman  not  satisfied  with  the  South' s  bloody  record 
since  the  war,  is  clamoring  and  whining  like  a  she  wolf  for  more  hu- 
man sacrifices,  and  an  increased  flow  of  human  blood.  She  is 
unmercifully  pounding  a  helpless  and  defenseless  people.  The  article 
.was  issued  in  defense  of  the  defenseless.  It  is  right  against  wrong; 
truth  against  error,  and  it  must  stand  even  if  the  one  who  uttered  it 
is  annihilated;  it  must  stand!" 

"But  you  must  remember  my  dear  man,  that  the  South  is  no  place 
to  speak  plainly  upon  race  matters.  You  have  written  the  truth,  but 
its  a  truth  that  the  white  people  of  the  South  cannot  and  will  not 
stand.  Now  the  leading  whites  are  much  incensed  over  this  article 
of  yours  which  they  interpret  as  an  intent  to  slander  white  women, 
and  I  am  sent  to  say  to  you  that  they  demand  that  you  retract  or 
leave  the  city.'" 

'■'  I  will  do  neither!  The  truth  has  been  said,  a  slanderer  rebuked. 
God  help  me,  I  will  not  go  back  on  that  truth." 

"Well,  I  leave  you;  I've  done  my  duty.      Good  morning." 

It  is  often  said  that  there  is  nothing  so  indispensible  as  the  news- 
paper. It  is  the  moulder  of  public  opinion;  the  medium  of  free 
speech;  the  promoter  and  stimulator  of  business;  the  prophet,  the 
preacher,  swaying  the  multitudes  and  carrying  them  like  the  whirlwind 
Into  the  right  or  wrong  path.  To  millions  its  the  Bible,  the  Apostles 
Creed.  Their  opinion  of  God,  of  religion,  of  immortality  is  shaped 
by  what  the  newspaper  has  to  say  upon  such  subjects.  Glowing 
headlines  in  the  newspapers  have  kindled  the  flames  of  Anarchy,  and 
started  men  upon  the  path  of  destruction  like  wolves  stimulated  and 
brutalized  by  the  scent  of  blood,  to  pause  only  when  irrepairable  evil 


12  THE   EDITOR. 

hath  been  wrought. — "When  new  widows  howl  and  new  orphans 
cry. ' '  What  a  power  for  evil  is  the  newspaper !  The  newspaper 
arrayed  on  the  side  of  the  right  hurls  its  mighty  battering-ram  against 
gigantic  walls  of  oppresion  until  they  fall;  takes  up  the  cause  of  the 
bondman,  echoes  his  wails  and  the  clanking  of  his  chains  until  the 
nation  is  aroused,  and  men  are  marching  shoulder  to  shoulder  on  to 
the  conflict  for  the  right.  What  a  power  for  good  is  the  newspaper! 
L  once  heard  a  great  editor  say  that  "although  newspaper  work' was 
hard  and  laborious,  requiring  a  great  store  of  intellectual  strength  it. 
was  nevertheless  a  fascinating  work. ' ',  But  in  the  South  where  freedom 
of  speech  is  limited  to  a  class  grit  and  backbone  outweigh  intellectual 
ability  and  are  far  more  requisite.  When  we  consider  the  fact  that 
many  white  newspaper  men  have  "licked  the  dust"  in  the  Southland 
because  they  dared  to  emerge  from  the  trend  of  popular  thought  and 
opinion,  the  Spartan  who  without  a  tremor  held  his  hand  into  the 
flames  until  it  had  burned  away  was  not  more  a  subject  of  supreme 
admiration  than  the  little  Octoroon  editor  of  the  Wilmington  Record 
whose  brave  utterances  begin  this  chapter. 

The  great  newspapers  of  today  are  too  engrossed  in  weightier  mat- 
ters to  concern  themselves  to  any  extent  with  things  that  promote 
directly  the  interests  of  the  ten  million  black  Americans.  Tnat  is 
largely  the  cause  of  the  existence  of  the  Negro  editors.  The  Negro, 
like  the  white  man,  likes  to  read  something  good  of  himself;  likes  to 
see  his  picture  in  the  paper;  likes  to  read  of  the  social  and  business 
affairs  of  his  people;  likes  to  see  the  bright  and  sunnyside  of  his 
character  portrayed;  so  he  often  turns  from  thegreat  journals  (who  are 
if  saying  anything  at  all  concerning  him,  worrying  over  the  "Negro 
Problem" (?)  )  to  look  at  the  bright  side  presented  by  the  Ne»ro 
newspaper.  A  few  days  ago  while  worried  and  disconsolate  over  the 
aspersions  heaped  upon  a  defenseless  people  that  floated  upon  the 
feotid  air  from  the  Alabama  Conference,  The  Ne7c  York  Age  came  to 
me,  a  ray  of  light  in  a  dungeon  of  gross  darkness. 

Prior  to  the  year  1892  there  had  been  no  genuine  zeal  among 
colored  people  to  establish  a  colored  newspaper  in  Wilmington.  Hie 
Record  was  launched  at  about  that  time:  but  not  until  taken  in  hand 
by  the  famous  A.  L.  Manly  did  it  amount  to  very  much  as  a  news  me- 


THE  EDITOR.  13 

dium.  Under  the  management  of  this  enterprising  little  man  The  Re- 
cord forged  ahead,  and  at  the  time  of  its  suspension  was  the  only  Negro 
daily,  perhaps,  in  the  country.  It  was  a  strong  champion  of  the  cause 
of  Wilmington's  colored  citizens.  Improvements  in  the  section  of 
the  'city  owned  by  black  people  were  asked  for,  and  the  request 
granted.  Good  roads  were  secured,  bicycle  paths  made,  etc.  The 
greatest  deed  achieved  however,  was  the  exposure  by  The  Record  of 
the  very  unsanitary  condition  of  the  colored  wards  in  the  city  hospital. 
The  Record  made  such  a  glowing  picture  of  the  state  of  affairs,  that 
the  Board  of  County  Commissioners  were  compelled  to  investigate 
and  take  action,  which  resulted  in  the  putting  of  the  old  hospital  in 
habitable  shape.  This,  though  a  good  work  did  not  enhance  the 
Editor's  popularity  with  the  whites  who  thought  him  too  high  strung, 
bold  and  saucy.  And  the  colored  people  who  appreciated  his  pluck 
felt  a  little  shaky  over  his  many  tilts  with  editors  of  the  white  papers. 
The  brave  little  man  did  not  last  very  long  however  — the  end  came 
apace:  Sitting  in  his  office  one  evening  in  August  reading  a  New 
York  paper,  his  eyes  fell  upon  a  clipping  from  a  Georgia  paper  from 
the  pen  of  a  famous  Georgia  white  woman,  whose  loud  cries  for  the 
lives  of  Negro  rapists  had  been  so  very  widely  read  and  commented 
upon  during  the  past  year.  This  particular  article  referred  to  the 
exposure  of  and  the  protection  of  white  gir'.s  in  the  isolated  districts 
of  the  South  from  lustful  brutes.  '•  Narrow-souled  fool!"  exclaimed 
the  editor,  throwing  the  paper  upon  the  floor;  'T  wonder  does  she 
ever  think  of  the  Negro  girls  in  isolated  districts  \(  the  South  exposed 
to  lustful  whites!  Does  she  think  of  those  poor  creatures  shorn  of  all 
protection  by  the  men  of  her  race !  I  guess  her  soul  is  too  small  to 
be  generous  a  little  bit. — 'White  girls  in  isolated  districts  exposed  to 
lustful  Negro  brutes.'  Colored  girls  in  isolated  districts  exposed  to 
lustful  white  brutes;  what's  the  difference?  Does  the  Negro's  ruined 
home  amount  to  nought?  Can  man  sin  against  his  neighbor  without 
suffering  its  consequences?  'Woe  unto  you  Scribes  and  Pharisees, 
hypocrites!'  I'll  throw  a  broadside  at  that  old  women,  so  help  me 
God." 

The  editor  took  up  his  pen  and  wrote  the   retort  which  shook  the 
ok'  State  from  mountian   to  sea,  and  which  enhanced  the  chances  of 


14  THE    EDITOR. 

the  white  supremacy  advocates  who  were  then  planning  for  an  upris- 
ing in  November.  "  Punish  sin  because  it  is  sin,"  concluded  the 
editor,  "and  not  because  the  one  who  commits  it  is  black."  The 
article  was  commented  upon  by  the  press  thruugnout  the  State,  and 
"the  affVontery  of  the  Negro"  in  assailing  white  women  bitterly  dis- 
cussed. The  Record  advanced  from  five  to  twenty-five  cents  a 
copy,  so  anxious  was  every  one  to  see  what  the  Negro  had  said  to  call 
for  such  ado.  Threatening  letters  began  to  come  in  to  the  editor's 
office.  "Leave  on  pain  of  death.'1  "Stop  the  publishing  of  tha* 
of  paper."  "Apologize  for  that  slander,"  etc.  But  the  editoi 
refused  to  apologize,  "Suspend  or  quit.' '  A  meeting  of  citizens  was 
called,  and  a  colored  man  sent  to  advise  the  editor  to  retract,  but  he 
was  obdurate.  Immediately  after  the  departure  of  the  colored  advo- 
cate, the  owner  of  the  building  came  in  and  told  the  editor  that  he 
was  compelled  to  ask  him  to  move  out.  He  looked  around  the  office 
so  full  of  pleasant  recollections.  The  face  of  "Little  Shunshine,'' 
once  the  writer  of  the  social  column  whose  rolicksome  disposition  had 
robbed  labor  of  its  irksomeness  in  the  work-room,  beamed  upon  him 
from  far  over  the  seas,  and  rendered  the  quitting  of  the  old  home  a 
much  harder  thing  to  do.  But  go  he  must.  Colored  friends  hearing 
of  his  predicament  rallied  to  his  aid,  and  offered  him  at  least  a  tem- 
porary asylum  in  one  of  their  buildings.  So  the  office  of  The  Record 
was  moved  into  Seventh  Street.  Excitement  soon  abated  however, 
and  The  Record  resumed  its  work.  Those  who  are  inclined  to  blame 
the  editor  of  The  Hfilmington  Record  for  the  massacre  of  1898  must 
remember  that  the  article  was  written  in  August,  and  the  massacre 
occurred  in  November;  and  that  the  editor  of  ;that  paper  did  not 
leave  Wilmington  until  a  few  days  before  the  massacre,  upon  the 
urgent  advice  of  friends.  The  whites  of  Wilmington  had  need  to  be 
afraid  of  the  Negroes,  and  did  not  attempt  to  do  violence  until  suffi- 
ciently reinforced  from  the  outside,  and  the  black  citizens  had  been 
cut  off  from  all  me^ns  of  defense.  Editor  Manley's  reply  to  the 
Georgia  woman  was  not  the  cause  of  the  upheaval,  but  it  was  an 
excellent  pretext  when  the  election  came  on. 


THE   COLONEL, 


CHAPTER    II. 


The    Colonel. 

There  strode  out  of  a  humble  but  neatly  furnished  dwelling  in  the 
Southern  section  of  the  city  of  Wilmington  on  a  sultry  morning  in 
August,  1898,  a  man  not  over  the  average  height,  neatly  dressed  in 
a  well-brushed  suit  of  black.  His  full  and  well  kept  beard  of  mixed 
gray  hung  low  upon  his  immaculate  shirt  front.  His  head  classic 
and  perfectly  fashioned,  set  well  poised  upon  shoulders  as  perfectly 
proportioned  as  an  Apollo.  His  gray  hair  parted  upon  the  side  of 
his  head,  was  carefully  brushed  over  his  forehead  to  hide  its  baldness, 
and  from  beneath  abundant  shaggy  eyebrows,  looked  forth  a  pair  of 
cold  gray  eyes.  Though  past  sixty,  he  was  erect,  and  his  step  was 
as  firm  as  a  man  of  thirty.  This  was  "The  Colonel,"  typical  South- 
ern gentleman  of  the  old  school,  a  descendant  of  the  genuine  aris- 
tocracy, the  embodiment  of  arrogance. 

The  Southerners'  definition  of  the  term  "gentleman''  is  a  pecu- 
liar one.  The  gentleman  is  born,  and  there  is  no  possible  way  for 
him  to  lose  the  title.  He  is  a  gentleman,  drunk  or  sober,  honest  or 
dishonest,  in  prison  or  out  of  prison.  He  is  a  gentleman  with  the 
stains  of  murder  unwashed  from  his  hands.  It  is  birth  and  not 
character  with  the  Southerner,  appearance,  rather  than  worth. 

While  in  New  England  settled  the  tanner,  the  wheelwright,  the 
blacksmith,  the  hardy  son  of  the  soil  who  came  over  to  escape  re- 
ligious persecution,  and  to  serve  God  according  to  the  dictates  of 
his  own  conscience,  with  none  to  molest  or  make  him  afraid,  in  the 
South  there  settled  England  and  Europe's  aristocrat,  lazy  and  self- 
indulgent,  satisfied  to  live  upon  the  unrequited  toil  of  others. 

The  "Colonel,"  aside  from  having  a  brilliant  war  record,  had  also 
a  lofty  political   career  in   North  Carolina,  during  and  following  the 


10  THE  COLONEL. 

reconstruction  period.  Twenty  years  or  more  ago  he,  in  the  height 
of  his  career,  was  the  idol  of  Eastern  North  Carolina.  "The  silver- 
tongued  orator  of  the  East,"  his  appearance  in  any  town  or  hamlet 
was  greeted  with  the  greatest  enthusiasm.  Holidays  were  proclaimed 
and  houses  were  decked  with  flags  and  bunting  in  honor  of  the  hero 
of  the  day  and  hour.  The  workman  forgot  his  toil,  the  merchant 
his  business;  old  and  young,  little  and  big  thronged  the  streets,  wo- 
men raised'  their  litttle  ones  in  their  arms  and  cried,  "See,  the 
Colonel  comes!"  We  listened  with  rapt  attention  to  his  superior 
eloquence,  and  no  man  was  more  deeply  rooted  in  the  affections  of 
his  )  eople.  We  esteemed  him  too  high  to  be  low,  too  lofty  in 
thought  and  aspiration  to  do  a  mean  thing.  Republican  aspirants  to 
Congress  in  those  days  were  easily  turned  down  by  the  Colonel  who 
represented  that  district  for  three  or  more  terms  at  the  National 
Capitol.  But  there  cair.e  a  time  when  the  Colonel's  influence  began 
to  wane;  whisperings  were  current  that  he  was  indulging  too  freely 
in  the  Southern  gentleman's  besetting  sin — poker  and  mint  julips, 
and  that  the  business  of  the  people  whose  interests  he  had  been 
sent  to  look  after  was  being  neglected.  Still  Wilmingtonians'  confi- 
dence in  the  Colonel  did  not  slacken,  and  when  the  time  for  Con- 
gressional nominations  came,  we  went  to  FayeUeville  with  bands 
playing  and  banners  flying,  and  we  cheered  ourselves  hoarse  in  or- 
der to  quicken  slumbering  interest  in  the  Colonel,  but  failed.  Cum- 
berland, Bladen,  Mecklinburg  and  other  counties  came  down  unani- 
mously in  favor  of  one  Shackleford,  of  the  upper  section,  a  name 
almost  unknown  to  us,  and  New  Hanover,  which  stood  alone  for  the 
Colonel,  was  defeated.  After  the  expiration  of  his  term  in  Congress 
the  Colonel  went  to  his  home  in  Wilmington,  and  resumed  the 
practice  of  law.  1  he  last  lime  that  I  visited  the  old  city,  the 
Colonel  was  solicitor  in  the  Criminal  Court.  He  had  also  moved 
put  of  his  palatial  dwelling  on  Third  street,  and  sought  cheaper 
quarters.  Twenty  years  ago  he  would  have  scorned  the  thought  of 
doing  this  deed  which  he  was  now  contemplating  as  he  strode  doivn 
the  street  on  this  sultry  August  morning. 

"I  will  carry  this  election  or  choke  the  river  with  their  carcasses," 
he  said  slowly  to  himself      But  why  this  ghastly  sentence  from  the 


THE   COLONEL.  17 

mouth  of  a  representative  Wilmingtonian?  What  had  plunged  the 
Colonel  into  such  a  desperate  state  of  mind?  Poverty!  lost  honor, 
unsatisfied  ambition.  The  Negro  and  the  "low  white''  are  prosper- 
ing, holding  positions  in  the  city  government  that  rightfully  belong 
to  first  families  who  are  better  qualified  to  hold  said  positions  and 
more  entitled  to  the  remunerations;  but  the  changing  of  this  order  of 
things  cannot  be  b  ought  about  by  honest  methods,  so  like  the 
hungry  wolf,  the  Colonel  is  preparing  to  make  a  desperate  charge  to 
carry  the  election  and  place  himself  in  office,  even  if  the  streets  of 
the  old  city  flow  with  blood.  Yea,  although  the  usual  state  election 
time  is  some  distance  off,  plans  have  been  already  secretly  perfected 
not  only  to  carry  the  election  by  the  Democrats,  but  to  reduce  the 
Negro  majorities  by  banishment,  intimidation  and  murder. 

Senator         ,    by  invitation,     had    visited    the   state,    and 

advised  the  carrying  of  the  election  with  the  shotgun,  and  had  of- 
fered the  loan  of  five  hundred  guns  from  South  Carolina.  Mer 
chants,  most  of  them  in  Wilmington,  had  promised  to  discharge  all 
colored  help  who  showed  a  disposition  to  vote,  and  had  also  sub- 
scribed to  a  fund  for  the  purpose  of  purchasing  powder,  guns  and 
dynamite.  A  raimiad  company  operating  into  the  city  had  sub- 
scribed five  hundred  guns.  Stump  orators  had  secured  the  aid  of 
the  poor  whites  both  in  the  city  and  rural  disiricts  by  promising 
them  that  by  assisting  to  kill  and  chase  the  Negro  from  the  city,,tTe 
property  owned  by  the  colored  c  tizens  would  be  turned  over  to 
them.  This  was  the  work  of  hungry  politicians  who.  to  get  office 
told  an  infamous  lie,  and  were  ready  to  deluge  a  city  in  blood  just  to 
get  into  office.  Certain  Negroes  and  white  men  had  been  listed  for 
slaughter  and  banishment.  Negro  men  and  women  who  had  had 
any  difficulty  in  which  they  had  gotten  the  best  of  a  white  person 
before  the  courts  or  otherwise,  for  even  ten  years  back,  were  to  be 
killed  or  driven  from  the  city.  'Those  who  owned  houses  in  white 
neighborhoods  were  to  be  driven  out  and  their  property  taken.  All 
this  was  being  done  quietly  while  the  old  city  rested  peacefully  upon 
this  smouldering  volcano.  The  Negro,  unaware  of  the  doom  that 
awaited  him,  went  quietly  about  his  work;  but  there  were  a  few 
white  men  in  the  city  who,    although  Southerners  by  birth  and  edu- 


18  [THE  colonel. 

cation,  did  not  coincide  with  the  methods  adopted  for  the  securing 
of  white  supremacy.  Among  these  was  Mr.  Gideon  who  could  not 
be  persuaded  to  assist  in  such  a  movement,  even  in  the  minutest 
way.  A  few  mornings  previous  to  the  opening  of  my  story,  there 
had  appeared  in  the  columns  of  a  small  Negro  journal  edited  in 
Wilmington,  a  short  article  which  had  been  interpreted  as  an  intent 
to  slander  white  women.  This  had  thrown  the  city  into  a  fever  of 
excitement,  and  dire  threats  had  been  made  against  the  editor,  and 
the  flocking  of  the  colored  people  to  his  aid  had  made  the  whites 
that  much  more  bitter  toward  Negroes  in  general.  But  they  soon 
quieted  down,  and  waited  the  "final  day.''  The  Colonel  feeling 
assured  that  this  article  in  the  Negro  Journal  would  be  the  means  of 
driving  all  lukewarm  whites  into  line,  leisurely  strolled  on  this  partic- 
ular day  toward  the  office  of  Mr.  Gideon. 

"Why,  good  morning,  Colonel!"  said  Mr.  Gideon,  arising  from 
his  desk  and  extending  his  hand  toward  the  Colonel  who  strode 
noiselessly  across  the  large  office  and  gently  tapped  him  upon  the 
shoulder.  The  Colonel  sank  into  a  chair,  and  opening  the  little 
sheet  which  he  had  drawn  from  his  coat  pocket,  laid  it  on  the  desk 
before  Mr.  Gideon. 

"Now,  is  it  not  time  for  white  men  to  act?" 

Mr.  Gideon  made  no  answer,  but  fastened  his  eyes  upon  the  pa- 
per before  him.  The  Colonel  continued,  "We  have  taken  care  of 
the  Negro,  paid  his  taxes,  educated  his  children,  tried  to  show  to 
him  that  we  were  more  interested  in  his  well-being  than  the 
Yankee  Radical  Carpet-bagger  he  has  chosen  to  follow;  bu'.  he  has 
persistently  disregarded  us.  unheeded  our  advice,  rode  rough  shod 
over  us,  and  fretted  us  until  patience  is  no  longer  a  virtue.  The 
Negro  has  reached  the  end  of  his  rope.  Emboldened  by  successful 
domination,  and  the  long  suffering  of  the  white  people  of  this  com- 
munity, this  nigger  has  made  an  unpardonable  attack  upon  our 
while  women.  Now,  Gideon,  if  this  article  is  not  sufficient  to  stim- 
ulate you  to  join  in  with  your  brethren  in  driving  the  ungrateful  nig- 
ger out  of  Wilmington  and  inducing  white  labor  into  it,  you  are  not 
true  lo  your  race. ' ' 

Mr.  Gideon  turned   in  his  chair  and  faced  the  Colonel,    "I  have 


THE  COLONEL.  19 

previously  read  the  article,"  he  answered  slowly  "[  have  re^d  also 
with — I  must  say — considerable  disgust,  the  letters  on  the  Negro 
question  from  the  pen  of  Mrs.  Fells,  cf  Georgia,  and  the  editorials 
of  Kingston  upon  the  subject;  and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Colone',  I 
must  commend  the  boy  for  his  courage;  he  was  simply  defending  his 
race  against  the  attack." 

The  Colonel  jumped  to  his  feet:  "In  the  name  of  God,  Gideon, 
do  you  believe  that  a  nigger  should  answer  a  white  man  back?" 

"Under  certain  circumstances,  Colonel,  I  do.  Mrs.  Fells  style  is 
extremely  brazen,  and  can  we  expect  to  harp  with  impunity  upon  the 
shortcomings  of  the  Negro?  Let  us  blame  the  right  persons;  those 
whose  uncalled  for  assaults  provoked  the  issuing  of  the  article.  But 
that's  a  small  matter  just  at  this  time.  I  have  refrained  from  enter- 
ing into  the  scheme  of  driving  out  Negroes,  because  I  am  concerned 
about  the  business  interests  of  this  city;  sit  down,  Colonel,  sit  down 
and  hear  me  out.  Now,  when  we  have  driven  out  the  Negro,  whose 
to  take  his  place?     We  have  tried  the  poor  white." 

"Why,  encourage  thrifty  emigrants  from  the  North."  "Thrifty 
emigrants  from  the  North,"  echoed  Mr.  Gideon. 

"Invite  labor  unions,  strikes,  incendiarism,  anarchy  into  our 
midst.  Look  at  Illinois;  can  the  South  cope  with  such?  The  Ne- 
gro we  understand;  he  has  stood  by  us  in  all  of  our  ups  and  downs, 
stood  manfully  by  our  wives  and  children  while  we  fought  for  his  en- 
slavement. After  the  war  we  found  no  more  faithful  ally  than  the 
Negro  has  been ;  he  hashelped  usto  build  waste  placesand  to  bring  order 
out  of  chaos.  Now  pray  tell  me  where  do  we  get  the  right  to  drive 
him  from  his  home  where  he  ha6  as  much  right  to  dwell  as  we  have?" 

"Then  you  believe  in  Negro  rule?" 

"No:" 

"Yes  you  do  Gideon,  or  you'd  not  talk  in  that  manner,"  replied 
the  Colonel,  now  beside  himself  with  rage.  "Now,  by  heaven,  we 
are  going  to  put  the  Negro  in  his  place.  Look  at  our  city  govern- 
ment in  the  hands  of  ignorant  niggers  and  carpet  baggers.  God  did 
not  intend  that  his  white  faced  children  were  ever  to  be  ruled  by 
black  demons."  and  the  Colonel  rose  again  and  began  to  pace  the 
floor. 


20  THE  COLONEL. 

"Calm  yourself,  Colonel,  calm  yourself,"  said  Mr.  Gideon.  "Now 
we  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  ourselves  to  raise  the  cry  of  Negro  rule 
in  North  Carolina,  when  we  so  largely  outnumber  them.  I  admit 
that  there  are  objectionable  Negroes  in  Wilmington,  Negroes  who 
would  greatly  benefit  the  community  by  leaving  it;  but  shall  we  slay 
the  righteous  with  the  wicked?  Must  the  innocent  and  guilty  suffer 
alike?     Ten  righteous  men  would  have  saved  the  cities  of  the  plains.  " 

"But  they  could  nt  be  found,"  interrupted*  the  Colonel. 

"I  warrant  you  they  can  be  found  here,''  calmly  replied  Mr. 
Gideon. 

We  the  white  people  of  this  community,  have  often  given  ex- 
pression of  our  love  and  even  veneration  for  such  characters  as  Al- 
fred Howe,  Henry  Taylor,  John  Norwood,  George  Ganse,  John  H. 
Howe,  Thomas  Revera,  Joe  Sampson,  Henry  Sampson,  Isham 
Quick,  and  scores  of  others  whom  we  must,  if  we  do  the  right  thing, 
acknowledge  as  the  black  fathers  of  this  city.  Thrifty  and  industri- 
ous Negroes  have  always  been  the  objects,  of  the  envy  of  poor 
whites  who  will  eagerly  grasp  the  opportunity  when  given,  to  destroy 
the  property  of  these  people.  While  it  is  your  object,  Colonel,  to 
carry  the  election,  and  triumph  politically,  they  will  murder  and 
plunder,  and  when  once  licensed  and  started,  you  cannot  check 
them.  I  see  that  they  are  being  armed — a  dangerous  proceeding. 
Take  care  Colonel;  I  beg  you  to  beware  lest  those  guns  in  the  hands 
of  these  people  be  turned  upon  you,  and  the  best  white  people  of 
this  community  be  compelled  to  quit  it.  I  listensd  with  fear  and 
apprehension  a  few  evenings  ago,  to  Fisher's  harrangue  to  the  poor 
whites  of  Dry  Pond.  They  will  take  him  at  his  word,  for  they  are 
just  that  ignorant.  Shall  we  for  the  sake  of  political  ascension  plunge 
Wilmington  into  an  abyss  of  shame?" 

''Now,  Gideon,"  said  the  Colonel,  "your  talk  is  all  nonsense,  we 
are  trying  to  extricate  Wilmington  fiom  the  slough  of  infamy  into 
which  it  has  been  plunged  by  Radicals.  We  are  going  to  elevate  the 
white  man  to  his  place  and  regulate  Sambo  to  his  sphere,  if  the 
streets  have  to  flow  with  blood  to  accomplish  that  end.  Good  nig- 
gers who  know  their  places  will  be  protected;  but  these  half  educated 
black  rascals  who  think   themselves  as  good  as  white  men,  must  go. 


THE  COLONEL.  21 

'Nigger  root  doctors'  are  crowding  white  physicians  out  of  business; 
•nigger'  lawyers  are  sassing  white  men  in  our  courts;  'nigger' 
children  aie  hustling  white  angels  off  our  sidewalks.  Gideon,  in  the 
name  of  God,  what  next?  what  next?"  and  the  Colonel  bounded 
into  the  air  like  an  Indian  in  a  war  dance.  "White  supremacy  must 
be  restored,  and  you  Gideon  will  regret  the  day  you  refused  to  assist 
your  white  brethren  to  throw  off  the  yoke  of  oppression.  Good 
da  ■,  Gideon,  good  day";  and  the  Colonel  stalked  out  ol  the  office. 

Uncle  Ephraim,  one  of  the  old  Nimrods  who  supplied  Wilming- 
ton's markets  with  savory  ducks  and  rice  birds,  stood  with  his  gun  on 
the  corner  of  Front  and  Market  streets  that  morning,  as  the  Colonel 
briskly  strode  past  on  his  way  from  the  office  of  Mr.  Gideon  to  the 
Court  House. 

"Good  mawnin  Co'nel,"  said  Uncle  Ephraim,  saluting  politely; 
but  the  Colonel  did  not  as  usual  pause  to  crack  a  joke  with  the  do 
cile  old  darky;  he  did  not  even  vouchsafe  a  nod  of  recognition,  but 
moved  hastily  on  his  way.  Uncle  Ephraim  stood  and  wistfully 
watched  the  Colonel  until  he  turned  the  corner  of  Second  and  Mar- 
ket streeis. 

"Whoop!  dar's  er  pow'ful  big  load  on  de  Co'nel's  mine  sho.  Dat 
white  man  didn'  eben  see  me;  an'  I  his  ole  bodysarbant,  too." 
Uncle  Ephraim  strode  slowly  down  Market  street  and  entered  the 
store  of  Sprague  &  Company.  "Look  yer!"  said  he,  "I  wants  er 
bout  fo'  ounce  powder  an  er  few  cap. ''  The  salesman  shook  his 
head. 

"Wa  fur  yo'  shake  yer  hed,  you  no  got  um?" 

"We  are  selling  nothing  of  the  kind  to  darkies  just  now,  uncle." 

"But  how  I  gwine  fer  kill  duck?''. 

The  salesman  made  him  no  answer. 

Uncle  Ephraim  stood,  looked  about  for  a  moment,  then  slowly 
sauntered  into  the  stree>,  and  made  his  way  to  Joslins,  in  South 
Front  street,  but  was  also  refused  there.  Going  again  to  the  corner 
of  Market  and  Front  Streets,  he  saw  several  white  men  and  boys 
enter  Sprague  &  Company  and  came  out  armed  with  shot  guns  and 
other  fire-arms,  and  walk  briskly  away.  "Deole  boy  is  gwine  to 
tun  heself  loose  in  dis  yer  town  soon;  fer  I  see  um  in  de  bery  eye  ob 


22  THE   COLONEL 

dese  bocra.  I  can't  buy  um,  but  see  how  de  bocra  go  in  an  git  um. 
Niggah,  hit's  time  ter  look  er  bout,"— and  Uncle  Ephraim  slowlv 
walked  up  Front  Street  towards  Morrow's. 


THE  MEETING  IN  THE  WIGWAM  *3 

S3 


CHAPTER  III. 


The  Meeting  In  The  Wigwam. 

Three  months  have  passed  since  the  events  narrated  in  the  pre- 
ceeding  chapters.  Chill  winds  are  heralding  the  approach  of 
winter.  Wilmington  is  three  months  nearer  its  doom.  Political  war- 
riors are  buckling  on  their  armour  for  the  final  struggle  on  the  8th,  of 
November  which  must  result  in  complete  victory  for  white  supremacy, 
or  indefinate  bondage  to  Negro  Domination  (?) 

Far  out  on  Dry  Pond  in  an  old  meeting  house  known  as  the  Wig- 
wam, the  White  Supremacy  League'  has  gathered.  The  o.^  hall  is 
poorly  lighted  but  it  is  easy  for  the  observer  to  see  the  look  of  grim 
determination  on  the  faces  of  all  present.  It  is  a  representative 
gathering.  There  is  the  Jew,  the  German,  Irishman,  Bourbon 
Aristocrat  and  "poor  bocra. "  The  deacon,  the  minister  of  the 
gospel,  the  thug  and  murderer.  No  one  looking  upon  this  strangely 
assorted  gathering  in  a  Southern  community  would  for  a  moment 
question  its  significance.  Only  when  politics  and  the  race  question 
are  being  discussed  is  such  a  gathering  possible  in  the  South.  There 
is  a  loud  rap:  the  hum  of  voices  ceases.  The  individual  who  gives 
the  signal  stands  at  a  small  table  at  the  end  of  the  long  narrow  hall. 
One  hand  rests  upon  the  table,  with  the  other  he  nervously  toys  with 
a  gavel.  He  is  a  tall,  lean,  lank,  ungainly  chap,  whose  cheek  bones 
as  prominent  as  an  Indian's  seem  to  be  on  the  eve  of  pushing  through 
his  sallow  skin.  A  pair  of  restless  black  eyes,  set  far  apart,  are 
apparently  at  times  hidden  by  the  scowls  that  occasionally  wrinkle  his 
forehead.      His   gray  hair  hangs  in  thick  mats  about  his  shoulders. 

Teck  Pervis  had  served  in  the  war  of  secession  under  General 
Whiting,  and  was  one  of  the  many  demoralized  stragglers,  who  swept 


■24  THE  MEETING  IN  THE  WIGWAM. 

before  the  advancing  tide  of  the  Union  troops  scampered  through  the 
swamps  and  marshes  after  the  fall  of  Fort  Fisher,  to  find  refuge  in 
Wilmington.  During  the  Reconstruction  period  and  many  years 
following,  he,  with  such  characters  as  Sap  Grant,  Neal  Simonds, 
Henry  Sallins,  Watson  and  others,  made  nights  hideous  on  Dry  Pond 
bv  their  brawls  and  frolics.  In  introducing  Teck  Penis  to  the 
reader,  1  wish  to  briefly  call  attention  to  that  peculiar  class  in  the 
South  known  as  the  "Poor  Whites."  Always  an  ignorant  depend- 
ent, entirely  different  in  every  respect  from  the  descendants  of  the 
Huguenots,  Celt  and  Cavaliers  that  make  up  the  South's  best  people; 
the  origin  of  this  being,  who  since  the  war  has  been  such  a  prominent 
figure  in  the  political  uprisings  and  race  troubles,  and  so  on,  is  worthy 
of  consideration.  In  the  early  centuries  the  English  Government 
made  of  America  what  in  later  years  Australia  became — a  dumping 
ground  for  criminals.  Men  and  women  of  the  Mother  Country 
guilty  of  petty  thefts  and  other  misdemeanors  were  sent  to  America, 
bound  out  to  a  responsible  person  to  be  owned  by  said  person  until 
the  expiration  of  sentence  imposed,  a  stipulated  sum  of  money  being 
paid  to  the  Crown  for  the  services  of  the  convict.  At  the  expiration 
of  their  term  of  servitude  these  subjects  were  given  limited  citizen- 
ship, but  were  never  allowed  to  be  upon  equality  with  those  who 
once  owned  them.  These  indentured  slaves  and  their  descendants 
were  always  considered  with  contempt  by  the  upper  classes.  The 
advance  of  American  civilization,  the  tide  of  progress  has  arisen  and 
swept  over  this  indolent  creature  who  remains  the  same  stupid, 
lazy,  ignoramus. 

In  Connecticut,  New  York,  New  Jersey,  Delaware,  Maryland, 
Virginia,  North  and  South  Carolina,  and  throughout  the  entire  South 
are  legion  of  this  people,  some  of  whom  could  not  be  taught  the 
rudiments  of  arithmetic.  When  African  slavery  became  established 
in  America,  white  s'avery  was  then  tried  in  Australia  where  the  treat- 
ment was  so  severe  that  thousands  of  them  fled  to  the  woods  to  become 
as  wild  in  many  instances  as  the  natives.  As  the  introduction  of 
African  slavery  caused  the  indentured  slave  to  depreciate  in  value  as 
bond  men,  they  were  converted  into  overseers,  patrolmen  Negro 
drivers  to  look  for  and  to  return  runaway  Negroes  to  their  masters. 


THE  MEETING  IN  THE  WIGWAM.  2& 

They  were  licensed  to  break  up  Negro  frolics,  whip  the  men.  and 
ravish  the  women.  But  in  the  main  the  poor  white  subsisted  by 
hunting  and  fishing.  To  him  work  was  degrading,  and  only,  for 
"niggers"  to  do.  A  squatter  upon  the  property  of  others,  his  sole 
belongings  consisted  of  fishing  tackle,  guns,  a  house  full  of  children, 
and  a  yard  full  of  dogs.  In  Virginia,  North  and  South  Carolina  he 
is  known  as  '-Poor  Bocra."  "Poor  Tackie. "'  In  Georgia  and 
Florida  its  '-Cracker,''  and  there  are  few  readers  of  current  literature 
who  are  not  familiar  with  that  class  of  whites  known  as  Clay  Eaters 
of  Alabama  and  Mississippi.  Looked  down  upon  by  the  upper 
classes,  the  poor  white  before  the  war  was  simply  a  tool  for  designing 
politicians.  When  war  between  the  North  and  South  became  iminent, 
the  poor  white  increased  in  value;  for  the  aristocrat  was  adverse  to 
being  a  common  private.  So  they  sought  the  poor  white,  appealed 
to  his  patriotism,  pictured  to  him  the  wrongs  heaped  upon  the  South, 
and  the  righteousness  of  slavery.  They  drew  glowing  pictures  of  the 
Southern  armv's  invasion  of  the  North  to  thrash  the  Yankees,  and 
pardon  them  in  Faneuil  Hall.  The  South  freed,  was  to  open  her 
markets  to  the  world.  Her  wealth  was  to  be  untold,  while  grass 
would  grow  on  the  sidewalks  of  Northern  cities.  Every  poor  white 
who  shouldered  a  gun  was  to  be  elevated  out  of  serfdom,  be  given 
forty  acres  of  land,  a  ••nigger"  and  a  mule.  Enthused  by  these 
glowing  promises,  the  Southern  poor  white  shouldered  his  gun  and 
waded  in:  and  no  one  reviewing  the  history  of  that  immortal  struggle 
would  for  a  moment  question  the  bravery  of  the  Southern  soldiers. 
They  fought  like  demons.  They  invaded  the  North.  They  made 
the  world  wonder  at  Gettysburg. 

Here  Mississippi  flushed  with  pride 

Met  Pennsylvania's  deadly  tide 

And  Georgia's  ra-h  and  gallant  ride 

Was  checked  by  New  York's  chivalry. 

Here  Alabama's  rebel  yell 
Rang  through  the  valleys  down  to  hell 
But  Maine's  decisive  shot  and  shell 
Cut  short  the  dreadful  revelry. 

But  the  South's  victorious  armies  did    not    reach    Faneuil    Hall. 
The  air  castles,  the  hopes  of  Southern  prosperity  and  the  poor  whites 


20  THE  MEETING  IN  THE  WIGWAM 

elevation  and  wealth  were  blasted,  when  two  years  after  that  gallant 
dash  at  Gett)sburg,  that  ragged,  starved,  wretched  host  surrendered 
at  Appomattox.  The  blasted  hopes  of  the  poor  white  caused  him  to 
drift  further  away  from  the  aristocrat  who  had  fooled  him  into  a  fool- 
hardy and  disastrous  struggle.  Land  was  cheap  but  he  hadn't  the 
money  to  buy  it,  and  the  aristocrat  didn't  have  the  "nigger"  and 
the  mule  to  give  him.  He  grew  lukewarm  politically,  got  his  rod  and 
went  a  fishing.  But  with  the  Negro  freed  and  enfranchised,  and  the 
Northern  politician  on  the  premises,  the  vote  of  the  poor  white 
became  indispensible  to  the  former  Southern  ruler  who  wished  to 
hold  his  own  politically.  So  a  new  batlle  cry  was  made,  viz: — "Ne- 
gro Domination,"  "Social  Equality.  But  so  lukewarm  had  the  poor 
white  become,  that  his  song  had  to  be  sung  with  pertinacious  fervor 
to  make  him  do  more  than  pause  to  listen. 

"Do  you  want  niggers  to  marry  your  daughters?  Do  you  want 
niggers  to  sit  in  school  beside  your  children?  Do  you  want  -niggers 
on  the  juries  trying  white  men?  If  you  don' I  want  such  dreadful 
calamities  to  befall  the  South,  go  to  the  polls  and  do  your  duty!' ' 
"What'd  he  say?  Niggers  er  marryin  our  darters?  Niggers  in 
skule  wid  we  uns?  Thet  aint  er  goin  ter  du  !  Le'  me  see  thet 
ticket ! " 

The  Southern  poor  white  has  never  had  much  of  a  hankering  after 
"book  laming."  He's  better  than  the  "nigger"  and  that's  all  he 
cares  to  know.  To  be  white  means  license  to  trample  upon  the 
rights  of  others.  The  cat's  paw— the  tool  of  the  aristocrat,  he  stands 
ready  always  to  do  the  dirty  work  of  lynching,  burning  acid  intimida- 
tion. Traveling  South,  especially  on  the  East  Coast,  the  train  con- 
ductor only  has  to  say  to  the  colored  passenger  in  a  first  class  car  but 
once  that  he  must  get  out.  If  the  passenger  refuses,  the  conductor 
need  not  waste  words;  a  telegram  to  Jessup  or  Way  Cross,  Ga. ,  or 
Bartow  Junction  in  Florida  will  call  together  a  crowd  of  crackers, 
large  enough  to  put  the  engine  off  the  track  if  necessary.  Like  the 
dog  in  the  manger,  unable  to  pay  for  a  first  class  ride  himself,  the 
poor  white  squats  about  railroad  stations  and  waits  for  the  opportu- 
nity to  eject  some  prosperous  Negro.  I  have  known  as  many  as  two 
hundred  to  swarm  around  a  train  to  put  off  one  frail  woman  not  over 
ninety  pounds  in  weight. 

This  is  the  creature  that  is  held  up  continually  before  the  Negro 


THE  MEETING  IX  ;THE  WIGWAM  27 

as  his  superior — an  assertion  that  will  ever  be  met  with  strong  resist- 
ance. For  while  the  Negro  was  a  slave  he  is  not  a  descendant  of 
criminals. 

"Gentermen,"  said  Teck  Pervis,  "whils  we  air  waitin  fur  ther 
kernul  and  other  big  uns  ter  errive,  as  cheerman  uv  the  Dry  Pond 
White  Supreemacy  Leeg,  I  wish  ter  keep  this  here  meet'n  warm  bv 
makin'  erfew  broken  remarks"  —  ''Go  ahead  Teck,  give  us  a  speech" 
came  from  more  than  a  dozen  throats;  "I  wan  ter  say  jes  here''  he 
continued  ''thet  ther  white  folks  uv  Wilmington,  North  Caliny  hav 
tuk  and  stood  nigger  biggitty  and  hifullutin  carryins  on  with  moe 
patience  then  eny  folks  on  top  side  er  this  green  yerth"  (Laughter 
and  applause).  "We  po  uns  have  jes  layed  er  roun  an  slep  till  Mr. 
Nigger  has  trotted  so  fur  er  hed  that  I  am  feared  we  wont  be  able  ter 
over  take  him.''  (Laughter).  ''They  air  in  better  houses  then  we 
po  white  uns,  thur  chilan  air  er  wearin  better  does  an  er  gittin  moe 
larnin  then  our'n.  An  gentermen  surs  jes  tackle  eny  er  them  little 
uns  er'n  an  they'd  surprise  yer;  why  they  kin  spit  latin  faster  then 
er  terbacky  worm  kin  spit  terbacky.  (Laughter).  Who  give  ther 
nigger  ther  stick  ter  break  our  heads?  Who  done  it  I  say?  You 
rich  white  uns,  thets  who;"  -'But  we'll  do  it  no  longer,"  said  a  voice 
from  the  audience.  "We  uns  hepped  yer  ter  fite  yer  battles,"  con- 
tinued Teck,  "an  when  thet  war  was  ended,  we  did'n  git  ther  nigger 
an  mule  yer  promised,  but  we  uns  did'n  kick  powerful  hard  agin  yer 
bekase  yer  did'n  hev  em  ter  giv  us."  (Laughter).  "But  you  uns 
could  er  giv  we  uns  ther  wurk  inslid  uv  givin  it  ter  good  fur  nuthin 
nigger  bekase  we  po  uns  hev  voted  yer  ticket  rite  er  long  an  kep  yer 
in  office — 

"I  see  ther  kurnels  on  hand'  so  I  giv  way  fur  im,"  and  Teck  Per- 
vis advanced  to  where  the  Colonel  had  paused  to  remove  his  over- 
coat. "Whats  the  matter  with  the  Colonel?  He's  all  right!"  was 
uttered  with  a  ring  that  shook  the  old  wigwam.  The  Colonel, 
escorted  by  Teck  Pervis,  leisurely  strutted  to  the  centre  of  the  hall. 
The  Colonel  had  seen  the  time  when  he  would  have  scorned  the 
idea  of  being  introduced  to  an  audience  by  a  low  white.  "Oh  vain 
boast!  who  can  control  his  fate?"  He  is  now  as  poor  as  the  poorest 
indentured  slave,  seeking  to  feed  at  the  public  crib  by  appealing  to 
the  passions  and  prejudices  of  the  masses. 


28  THE  MEETING  IN  THE  WIGWAM. 

"Gentlemen,"  says  he,  "it  is  needless  for  me  to  ask  you  to  night 
whether  or  not  you  believe  that  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  was  ordained 
by  God  to  rule  the  world.  It  is  needless  for  me  to  say  that  the 
Anglo-Saxon  proposes  to  carry  out  God's  decree  to  the  letter. 
(Applause).  When  God  made  man,  he  placed  him  over  every  other 
living  creature  to  rule  and  govern,  and  that  man  was  a  white  man. 
(Applause).  When  God  said  to  man  '  Have  dominion  over  the 
beasts  of  the  field,'  He  meant  to  include  inferior  races.  These 
inferior  races  are  to  be  kept  in  subjection  by  their  superiors, 
and  wherever  and  whenever  they  assume  to  dominate  their  superiors 
we  are  justified  by  our  Creator  in  using  every  means  available  to  put 
them  down.  The  white  people  of  North  Carolina,  the  curled  darl- 
ings of  God's  favor  have  by  their  long  suffering  gotten  into  such 
a  state  of  subjection  that  it  is  time  to  act.  (Applause).  Wherever 
the  Saxon  has  planted  his  foot,  he  has  been  a  civilizer.  He  came  to 
America,  drove  out  the  savage  and  made  it  the  greatest  nation  on 
the  face  of  the  earth,  (applause)  and  he  has  the  right  to  govern  it  in 
its  entirety  from  the  humblest  official  to  the  executive  head  of  the 
nation,  (prolonged  applause).  We  have  for  years  been  dominated 
by  semi-civilized  barbarians,  flattered  into  the  belief  that  they  are  as 
good  as  white  people  by  unprincipalled  Yankee  carpet-baggers  who 
have  profited  by  their  ignorance.  Emboldened  by  the  leniency  of 
their  superiors,  Negroes  have  become  unbearable.  The  government 
is  corrupt,  and  so  bold  has  the  Negro  become  that  the  virtue  of  our 
women  has  been  assailed  by  that  black  rascal,  the  editor  of  The 
Record — (cries  of  Kill  him!  Burn  the  scoundrel!)  The  snake  is 
not  to  be  scorched  this  time:  we  aregoing  to  make  a  clean  sweep,  and 
permanently  restore  white  man's  government.  Our  friends  in  other 
sections  of  the  State,  and  even  in  adjoining  States  are  in  sympathy 
with  us,  and  are  willing  to  come  in  and  help  us,"  etc. 

But  why  weary  the  reader  with  the  Colonel's  firey  harangue. 
Although  there  is  no  foundation  for  such  incendiary  language  the 
reader  will  soon  see  just  how  much  misery  it  wrought  upon  a  defense- 
less people.  Fanned  into  fury  by  the  rehearsing  of  imaginary  wrongs 
by  gifted  tongues,  the  mob  when  once  started  astonished  its  leaders, 
who  quailed  and  looked  aghast  at  trie  hellish  work  they  had  inaugu- 
rated. 


MRS.  AMANDA   PRRVIS. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Mrs.  Amanda  Pervis. 

"Whew  !  dis  here  win  is  er  blowin  pow'ful  col  fer  Octoby  Ther 
ol  sow  was  er  tot'n  straw  yistedy  and  that  means  winter  aint  fur  off. 
Shoo  there !  I  never  seed  ther  beat  er  thet  ol  hen ;  make  hase  ter 
gulp  her  own  co'n  down  ter  driv  ther  turkeys  way  from  their'n." 
Thus  spoke  Mrs  Amanda  Pervis  as  she  stood  in  the  door  of  her  hum- 
ble wooden  dwelling  on  Kidder  s  Hill  a  brisk  murning  in  October. 
"Thanksgiving  haint  fur  off,  an  turkey  meat's  er  gittin  high.  Shoo 
ther  yer  hussy  ! ''  'Who  air  yu  er  talk  in  ter  Mandy  ?  "  said  her 
husband  coming  to  the  door  and  peeping  over  his  wife's  shoulder. 
'  I  tho't  er  trader  er  some  sort  wus  er  passin."  The  wife  turned  and 
looked  astonished  at  her  husband.  ''  Why  fer  ther  Ian  sake,  what's 
er  comin  over  ye  Teck  Pervis?  I  tho't  yer'd  be  fas  er  sleep  after 
bein  so  late  ter  meetin  las  nite.  I  tho't  yer'd  tak  yer  res  bein  yer 
haint  er  goin  er  fishin  i"  'I  felt  kinder  resliss  like,  and  I  tho't  I 
jes  es  well  be  er  gittin  up,"  answered  Teck,  plunging  his  face  into  the 
basin  of  cool  spring  water  that  his  wife  had  placed  on  the  shelf  beside 
the  door.  "Well  hit  won't  tak  me  long  ter  git  breakfus  reddy,"  ind 
Mrs.  Pervis  darted  into  the  kitchen.  Teck  Pervis  dipped  his  hands 
into  the  basin,  poured  the  cool  water  on  his  head  until  his  gray  hair 
hung  in  thick  mats  over  his  face  then  leisurely  drawing  the  towel 
from  the  nail  beside  the  door,  lazily  wiped  his  head  and  face.  The 
smell  of  fried  bacon  and  delicious  coffee  arose  from  the  kitchen  ;  the 
rattling  of  dishes  was  to  him  sufficient  token  of  the  putting  of  victuals 
on  the  table  Teck  Pervis  sauntered  in,  sat  down,  folded  his  arms 
upon  the  table,  and  sheepishly  watched  his  wife  as  she  flitted  from 
place  to  place  in  the  humble  little  kitchen.  Mrs.  Pervis  paused,  and 
her  eyes  met  her  husband's  gaze.      "Well  what  in  ther  wor'l  is  ter 


80  MRS.  AMANDA   PERVIS.', 

matter  Teck  Pervis?  Why  air  ye  gazin  at  me  so  dis  mornin,  turn  yer 
cup  and  tak  yer  coffy. "  We  uns  had  er  interestin  meetin  las  night," 
he  said  meekly.  ''Well  mus  yer  put  on  er  graveyard  face  ter  day 
bekase  yer  had  er  interestin  meetin  las  night  ?  Don't  put  so  much 
gravy  on  yer  rice,  hits  ergin  yer  lit  1th.  Maria  Tappin  tol  me  yestidy 
thet  her  brother  Tom  was  to  be  nitiated  las  night  with  er  eood  meny 
other  uns,  an  I  'lowed  I'd  here  erbout  hit,  as  my  husban  was  er  goin. 
Now  yer  air  talkin  erbout  er  interestin  meetin  the  candidates  muster 
all  bin  on  han."  Teck  Pervis  looked  pleadingly  at  his  wife.  Mrs. 
Pervis  went  on  :  "I  am  glad  yer  went  ter  loge  meetin  ;  er  lot  er  them 
Red  Shirt  Varmints  cum  er  roun  las  night  er  lookin  fer  yer  to  go  with 
em  ter  that  wigwam,  and  I  was  proud  ter  tell  em  that  my  husban'  was 
not  in  politicks  when  it  cum  to  killin  colud  folks  ter  git  inter  office,  an 
that  truth  hit  em  so  hard  dey  sneaked."  Teck  shuddered.  During 
a  series  of  revivals  in  the  Free  Will  Baptist  Church  during  the  sum- 
mer Teck  Pervis  had  professed  religion.  A  fierce  struggle  was  going 
on  'neath  his  rugged  breast.  Must  he  tell  the  truth.  The  best  whites 
were  there  even  ministers  of  the  gospel  ;  but  then  preachers  are  not 
always  on  the  right  side  ;  and  Teck  Pervis  had  promised  his  wife  that 
he'd  not  allow  himself  to  be  a  tool  for  hungry  broken  down  aristocrats 
who  only  wished  to  use  the  poor  as  cats'  paws.  He  took  a  big  swal- 
low of  coffee,  drummed  nervously  with  his  fingers  upon  the  table.  "I 
jes  es  well  tell  yer  ther  plain  truth,  Mandy,"  he  said  finally,  "I  got 
wi  ther  boys  las  night  and  went  ter  ther  Wigwam,  an  was  made  Cheer- 
man  ov  ther  meetin.  They  lowed  thet  hit  wus  ter  be  ther  mos  im- 
portent  meetin  in  ther  campain,  an  hit  wus  time  fer  white  men  ter  be 
er  standin  tergither.''  "Teck  Pervis,"  exclaimed  the  wife,  "  Hev  I 
bin  er  rastlin  in  prayer  an  pleadin  ter  ther  Lawd  in  vain  ?  Didn't  I 
beg  yer  not  ter  fergit  yer  religin  in  jine-inin  wid  sinners  in  doin  eval?  " 
"There  aint  er  goin  ter  be  eny  killin  done,  Mandy,  we  air  jes  er  goin 
ter  skeer  ther  Niggers  way  from  ther  polls,  an  keep  um  frum  votin." 
"  I  know  all  erbout  hit,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Pervis.  "Hit  will  en'  in 
murder,  for  yer  know  thet  Niggers  won't  be  drove."  '"  Why  all  ther 
big  guns  war  there  Mandy;  merchints,  lawyers,  docters  an  ev'n 
preachers."  "  Laws  e  massy  me  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Pervis.  "An  if 
ther  shepod  wus  ther,  yer  kaint  blame  ther  flock."      "Teck  Pervis 


MRS.  AMANDA   PRRVIS.  31 

did  I  understan  yo  ter  sav  that — ' '  "Don't  git  excited,  Mandy,  yer 
jes  es  well  git  use  ter  ther  new  tern  things  air  takin.  Them  preachers 
war  thar  bekase  they  sed  hits  time  fur  white  uns  ter  stan  tergither. 
Radicul  rule  mus  be  put  down."  Mrs.  Pervis  crossed  her  hands  up- 
on the  table  and  looked  resigned.  "Teck,  do  tell  me  what  preach- 
ers war  they  ?  "  "  Why  ef  yo  own  minister  wus'n  thar  hiself  I  hope 
er  hoppergrass  may  chaw  me  "  "Teck  Pervis,  do  ye  mean  ter  tell 
me  thet  Brother  Jonas  Melvin  wus  at  thet  meetin?"  "Yes,  and 
Hoosay  too,  thet  Presberteen  man  thet  sines  his  name  with  er  dubble 
D  hung  on  ter  ther  een.''  "Jonas  Melvin  is  er  windin  up  his  ker- 
rare  in  Free  Will  Church.  We'll  hev  no  sich  men  fumblin  wi  ther 
werd  ev  God  in  our  pulpit.  I  never  did  think  them  Presbyteens  hed 
eny  religin  no  wav.  They  air  full  of  book  larnin,  but  havn't  bin  tech 
wit  ther  sparit.  '['his  Hussy  is  lik  ther  res  er  these  hi  tone  preachers 
thet  hang  on  ter  this  docterin  thet  ther  yerth  moves  insted  uv  ther 
sun."  "Hoosay  Mandy.  Why  don' t  yer  tak  proper!  Hoosay!" 
"Well,  he  jes  oughter  be  named  Hussy,  fur  he  is  er  hussy.  When 
ole  sat'n  meets  them  two  at  the  cross-road  thars  er  goin  ter  be  er  tus- 
sle now  I  tell  yer."  "Well  now  yer  know  thet  ther  scripter  says 
cussed  be  Canyon,  least  wise  thets  the  way  Brother  Melvin  splained 
hit  tothernight,  cussed  be  Canyon  means  cussed  be  Niggers."  "Now 
Teck  Pervis,  wher  is  yer  proof  thet  the  scripter  merit  Nigger?  I  aint 
rusty  un  ther  scripter  ef  I  am  er  gittin  ole.''  "Now,  Mandy,  yer 
know  ther  scripter  reads  thet  Canyon  was  the  son  er  Ham  an  wus 
cussed  bekase  h;s  daddy  laffed  at  ole  Noey,  bekase  when  he  layed 
down  ter  sleep  he  didn't  pull  the  kivver  on  his  seif  proper  like.  When 
de  ole  man  woke  up  the  tother  boys  tole  him  what  Ham  hed  done,  he 
cussed  Canyon  Ham's  son-,  and  sed  sarvant  of  sarvants  shill  he  be. 
Ham  wus  ther  Nigger  boy  in  ther  family,  and  we  uns  air  carin  out 
ther  edicts  of  ther  scripter  when  we  try  ter  keep  the  Nigger  cussed. 
Sarvant  ov  sarvants  shill  he  be,  an  we  air — "  "  Hoi  on,  Teck  Per- 
vis," exclaimed  his  wife.  "Let  me  git  in  er  word  kinder  catiwompus 
like  et  leas  Now  we  air  all  ther  time  er  lookin  fer  scripter  ter  back 
us  up  in  our  devalmint  Ther  scripter  don't  say  thet  God'l  mighty 
cussed  Canyon,  it  says  thet  Noey  cussed  him,  an  ef  Noey  hed  kep 
sober  an  b'haved  hisself  he  wouldenter  hed  ter  cuss  at  eny  body. 
Whose  teachin  air  we  er  follerin  ?     Ole  Noey's  er  our  Blessed  Lawd 


32  MRS.  AMANDA-  PERV1S. 

an  Saviour  ? ' '  He  sed  all  things  what  soiver  ye  wood  thet  men  should 
do  ter  yo,  do  ye  evan  so  ter  thim.  Have  yer  back  slided  an  fergot 
yer  religin  erready  Teck  Pervis?"  Teck  was  dumb  "  Yo  Red 
Shirts  Ruff  Riders  an  broke  down  ristecrats  kin  go  on  an  do  yer  dev- 
ilment but  mark  what  Mandy  Pervis  says,  God' 1.  Mighty  will  giv  yu 
uns  ther  wurk  er  yer  hans. "  ''Why,  Mandy,  yo  ought  ter  git  er 
license  ter  preach,  why  you  kin  spit  scripter  lik  er  bon  evangilis, " 
and  Teck  Pervis  reached  over  and  slapped  his  wife  upon  the  shoulder. 
This  compliment  from  her  husband  stimulated  the  old  lady  to  more 
earnest  effort.  "Now  look  er  here."  she  continued.  "What  do 
them  risticrats  kere  er  bout  the  likes  er  we  ?  la  slave  times  we  war 
not  as  good  as  their  Niggers  an  ef  we  didn't  get  out  ther  way  on  the  \ 
road,  they'd  ride  their  fine  critters  plum  over  us.  They  hed  no  use 
fer  we  uns  unless  hit  wus  ter  use  us  fer  somethin.  Whan  ther  war 
broke  out,  of  course  they  wanted  der  po'uns  ter  do  ther  fightin,  an 
they  kill  me  ole  daddy  bekase  he  would'n  jine  em.  He  didn't  think 
it  right  ter  tak  up  an  fight  agin  the  Union  ;  an  I  can't  fergit  thet 
you'ns  who  did  go  ter  ther  fight  ware  promij'd  er  Nigger  an  er  mule. 
But  did  yer  git  em?  Teck  Pervis  winced.  Mrs.  Pervis  continued. 
"  Now  sich  es  ole  Wade  an  Moss  Teele  an  uthers  air  hungry  ter  git 
er  bite  at  ther  public  grip,  so  they  throw  out  bait  fer  yo  uns  ter  nib- 
ble ;  an  yer  air  fools  e'rnuff  ter  nibble.  Jane  Snow  tells  me  thet  all 
ther  big  bug  Niggers  er  goin  ter  be  driv  out,  and  we  uns  will  git  ther 
property  and  wash  up  in  ther  churches."  ''Thet  wus  promused." 
broke  in  Teck.  "  But  who  hes  ther  rite  ter  tek  them  critters  prop- 
erty an  giv  hit  ter  yo  uns?  "  replied  Mrs.  Pervis.  "  Teck  Pervis  yo 
may  mark  my  words,  but  jes  es  soon  es  them  broken  down  ristocrats 
git  er  hoi  of  ther  gov' mint,  jes  es  soon  es  yo  po  fools  help  them,  then 
yer  kin  go. ' '  Teck  Pervis  glared  at  his  wife  like  a  fierce  beast  at  bay. 
He  was  Teck  Pervis  of  old,  the  defnnt,  blood  thirsty  rebel  in  the  rifle 
pit  glaring  over  the  breast- works  at  the  jnemy.  "  Wese  got  ther 
guns!"  he  thundered,  bringing  his  fist  down  upon  the  table,  "an  ef 
they  dont  give  ther  po'  uns  er  show  when  ther  city  is  took,  why  !  we'd 
jes  es  leave  kill  er  ristercrat  as  er  Nigger,  and  we  uns  will  do  it  Wat 
yo  say  is  right  frum  start  to  finish.  We  uns  air  watchin  urn  ;  wese 
got  ther  guns,  an  we  uns'll  hold  em  till  we  see  how  things  air  goin  ter 
wurk.     Reach  up  there  an  han  ine  my  pipe  Mandy." 


MOLLY    PIERREPONT.  33 


CHAPTER  V. 


Molly  Pierrepont. 

"  Sweet  aud  low,  sweet  and  low 

Wind  of  the  Western  sea 

Low,  low,  breathe  and  blow 

Wind  of  the  Western  sea 

Over  the  rolling  waters  go, 

Come  from  the  dying  moon  and  blow 

Blow  him  again  to  me 

While  my  little  one,  while  my  pretty  one  sleeps." 

This  sweet  old  lullaby  of  Longfellow's,  sung  by  a  rich  soprano  voice 
floated  upon  the  cool  October  air  out  from  a  beautiful  and  richly  fur- 
nished suburban  cottage  in  Wilmington.  The  singer  sit  alone  at  the 
piano.  Though  vulgarly  called  a  "  Negress,"  her  skin  was  almost  as 
fair  as  a  Saxon's  ;  and  because  of  the  mingling  of  Negro  blood — more 
beautiful  in  color.  She  was  gowned  in  an  evening  dress  of  gossamer 
material,  ashes  of  rose  in  color.  Her  hair  let  out  to  its  full  length 
hung  in  silky  profusion  down  her  back  There  were  plain  o'd  fash- 
ioned half  moon  rings  in  her  ears,  and  bands  of  gold  upon  her  bare 
arms  enhanced  their  beauty.  No  one  will  deny  that  among  the  wo- 
men of  mixed  blood  in  the  South,  there  are  types  of  surpassing  beauty. 
The  inter-mixture  of  Negro  and  Saxon,  Negro  and  Spanish  and  In- 
dian blood  gives  the  skin  a  more  beautiful  color  than  exists  in  the  un- 
adulterated of  either  race.  While  the  mulatto  and  octoroon  may  re- 
veal the  Saxon  in  the  fairness  of  the  skin,  the  Negro  reinforcement 
shows  itself  generally  in  the  slight  inclination  of  the  lips  toward  thick- 
ness, the  lustrious  black  of  the  eye  and  hair  which  is  generally  abun- 
dant and  slightly  woolly  in  texture.  This  is  brought  out  plainly  in  the 
case  of  the  Jew.  Although  centuries  have  passed  since  the  Jews  very 
extensively  amalgamated  with  the  dark  races  of  Egypt  and  Canaan, 


34  MOI.LY   PIERREPONT. 

their  dark  complexions,  lustrous  black  eyes,  abundant  woolly  hair 
plainly  reveal  their  Hamatic  lineage.  To  pass  through  the  Bowery  or 
lower  Broadway  in  the  great  metropolis  at  an  hour  when  the  shop  and 
factory  girl  is  hurrying  to  or  from  her  work,  one  is  struck  by  the  beauty 
of  Jewish  womanhood.  King  David's  successful  campaigns  placed 
Solomon  over  large  dominions  of  Moabitish  and  Canaanitish  peoples; 
and  for  the  stability  of  bis  kingdom,  Solomon  took  wives  out  of  all 
of  these  nationalities  ;  and  Solomon's  most  favored  wife  was  his  black 
princess,  Naamah,  the  mother  of  Rehoboam,  his  successor.  The  poet 
describes  Naamah  as  the  "  Rose  of  Sharon,  the  most  excellent  of  her 
country."  The  .carriage  of  Solomon  to  his  black  princess  was  the 
most  notable  of  any  of  his  marriages  ;  for  that  wonderful  poem, 
"  Solomon's  Songs,''  is  mainly  a  eulogy  to  this  one  of  his  many  wives. 
"  I  am  black  but  comely,  O  ye  daughters  of  Jerusalem  as  the  tents  of 
Kedar,  as  the  curtains  of  Solomon.  Look  not  upon  me  because  I  am 
black,  because  the  sun  hath  looked  upon  me."  In  the  most  beauti- 
ful language  in  the  gift  of  the  poets  of  that  day  Solomon  converses 
with  Naamah  in  the  following  dialogue:  "  Return,  return  O  Shulam- 
ite  ;  return,  return  that  we  may  look  upon  thee. "  Naamah,  "What 
will  you  see  in  Shulamite?"  Solomon,  "As  it  were  a  company  of 
two  armies  " 

We  have  conclusive  evidence  that  the  Southern  gentleman  did,  and 
does  sing  such  love  ditties,  and  talk  sweet  nothings  to  the  Southern 
black  woman,  an  I  the  woman  of  mixed  blood,  but  unlike  Solomon, 
he  is  too  much  of  a  coward  to  publicly  extol  her.  During  the  slave 
period  in  the  West  Indian  Islands  a  child  born  to  a  slave  woman  shared 
the  fortunes  of  its  father  ;  and  if  the  father  was  free,  so  was  the  child. 
But  the  American  slave  holder  reversed  that  law  so  that  he  could 
humble  the  bond-woman  and  damn  her  offspring  with  impunity.  Up- 
held by  the  law  the  Southerner  sold  his  own  daughter  and  sister  into 
a  lite  of  shame.  The  pretty  Negress  and  the  woman  of  mixed  blood 
brought  extortionate  prices  in  Southern  markets.  Northern  sympa- 
thizers may  talk  of  the  New  South,  and  the  Southern  orator  may  harp 
upon  the  shortcomings  of  the  "inferior  race,"  but  on  this  line  of 
thought  and  conduct,  the  Southern  whites  have  tiot  changed  one  whit. 
Before  the  war,  Sambo  only  had  a  quit-claim  on  his  black  or  mulatto 


MOLLY     PIERREPONT.  35 

wife,  and  now  the  laws  are  so  framed  that  he  cannot  defend  the  wo- 
man of  his  race  against  the  encroachments  of  his  white  brother,  who 
looks  at  the  destruction  of  the  Negro  woman  as  only  an  indiscretion. 
The  humble  black  fool  is  often  forced  away  from  his  own  wife  or 
sweet-heart  at  the  point  of  a  revolver,  cowed  by  the  feeling  that  a 
manly  stand  against  a  white  man  might  cause  incalculable  loss  of  life. 
Yet  the  advocate  of  Lynch  Law  pictures  this  humble  fellow,  this  man 
who  is  afraid  to  attempt  to  defend  his  own  home,  as  a  reckless  dare- 
devil, keeping  the  whites  in  constant  terror.  How  incompatible  these 
two  traits  of  character.  No  ;  it  is  not  the  reckless  dare  deviltry  of  the 
Negro  that  terrorizes  the  South,  but  the  conscience  of  the  white  man 
whose  wrong  treatment  of  a  defenseless  people  fills  him  with  fear  and 
intensifies  his  hatred.  He  is  determined  to  fill  to  overflow  his  cup  of 
iniquity.  Like  Macbeth,  he  has  waded  in  so  tar,  that  to  return  were 
as  tedious  as  to  go  over.  It  matters  not  how  loud  the  Southerner 
shouts  about  "the  good-for-nothing  Nigger,"  he  still  has  the  same 
old  anti-bellum  liking  for  the  women  of  that  race.  Bishop  Turner  is 
the  only  honest  and  earnest  advocate  of  Negro  Emigration,  the  others 
have  only  a  half  hearted  leaning  in  that  direction.  If  it  were  possible 
for  emigration  to  become  a  reality,  the  Southern  whites  would  be  the 
hardest  kickers  against  the  scheme.  The  only  beneficiaries  from  this 
wonderful  enterprise  would  be  the  steamship  companies  ;  forafterthe 
hundreds  of  years  of  transportation  are  over,  then  excursion  parties 
would  be  the  order  of  the  day  for  time  immemorial.  Our  Southern 
gentleman  will  not  be  deprived  of  the  Negro  woman.  There  is  no 
ocean  too  wide  for  him  to  cross  ;  no  wall  too  high  for  him  to  scale  ; 
he'd  risk  the  fires  of  hell  to  be  in  her  company,  intensely  as  he  pre- 
tends to  hate  her.  Wilmington,  North  Carolina,  the  scene  of  that 
much  regretted  phenomenon — the  fatal  clashing  of  races  in  Novem 
ber,  1898,  was  not,  and  is  not  without  its  harems,  its  unholy  m  ng- 
lings  of  Sheni  with  Ham  ;  where  the  soft-fingered  aristocrat  embraces 
the  lowest  dusky  sirene  in  Paddy's  Hollow,  and  thinks  nothing  of  it. 
Molly  Pierrepont  whom  I  introduce  to  the  reader  in  this  chapter,  is  a 
type  of  Negro  women  whose  progress  along  ennobling  avenues  is  more 
hotly  contested  than  any  other  woman  in  the  South,  because  of  her 
beauty.     To  decide  between  the  honor  with  poverty  offered  by  the 


3<>  MOIXY   PIBRREPONT. 

black  man  and  the  life  of  ease  with  shame  offered  by  the  white  one 
is  her  "  Gcthsemine. "  Yet  where  love  of  honor  has  conquered,  she 
has  made  a  devoted  wife  and  a  loving  mother. 

Such  a  character  as  Molly  Pierrepont  was  an  exclusive  luxury  for 
gentlemen.  The  poor  white  could  not  afford  to  support  a  mistress 
who  of  course  went  to  the  highest  bidder.  Ben  Hartright  left  the 
Wigwam  before  the  close  of  the  meeting  in  which  he  was  so  deeply 
interested,  and  proceeded  directly  to  Molly's  cottage  ;  but  he  did  not 
notice  as  he  tipped  lightly  through  the  gate  a  cloaked  and  veiled  form 
crouching  down  in  the  bushes  a  few  yards  away.  He  heard  not  the 
light  footsteps  as  it  drew  nearer  to  be  sure  that  there  was  no  mistaking 
the  visitor.  Ben  Hartright  entered  boldly  ;  knocking  was  unneces- 
sary ,  he  was  master  there.  The  furniture  and  hangings  were  all  his 
purchase,  even  the  expensive  jewels  that  the  woman  wore.  The  fig- 
ure on  the  outside  drew  still  closer,  peered  in,  tip-toed  upon  the  piazza, 
pressed  the  ear  against  the  window  to  catch  as  much  as  possible  of 
what  went  on  within.  Only  a  few  minutes  did  it  tarry  however.  As 
the  door  swung  open,  Molly  arose  from  the  piano  and  advanced  with 
outstretched  arms  to  meet  him. 

"  Hello,  Ben  !  I  thought  you  were  to  be  here  by  eight  to  night.  n 

Ben  Hartright  sank  upon  a  sofa  and  gently  drew  the  girl  down  be- 
side him  before  he  assayed  to  answer  her. 

"Well,  Molly,  you  must  remember  that  I  am  iu  politics  now,"  he 
said,  kissing  her  fondly,  and  I  must  attend  the  different  meetings, 
business  before  pleasure  you  know.  We  are  in  the  most  exciting  pe- 
riod of  the  campaign;  a  campaign  the  like  of  which  has  never  before 
been  experienced  in  North  Carolina.  We  are  organized  and  determ- 
ined to  save  the  State  to  the  Democratic  party  and  make  white  su- 
premacy an  established  fact  if  we  have  to  kill  every  Nigger  and  Nig- 
ger-hearted white  man  in  it.  To  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  we  are 
arming  ourselves,  and  seeing  to  it  that  no  Nigger  shall  buy  an  ounce 
of  powder,  and  every  Nigger  nun  and  woman  is  to  be  searched  and 
what  weapons  they  have  taken  away  that  no  white  man's  life  may  be 
endangered.  There  are  some  Niggers  and  white  men  who  must  be 
killed,  and  they  are  carefully  listed." 

Ben  Hartright  unbosomed  to  Molly  the  plots  of  the   White  Su- 


MOLLY    PIERREPONT.  37 

premacy  League  in  all  its  blood-curdling  details,  naming  every  man 
and  woman  who  were  to  be  the  victims  of  the  mob's  fury. 

"Do  you  think  that  a  very  brave  thing  to  do?"  asked  Molly  at  the 
conclusion  of  Ben's  recital. 

"Oh,  anything  is  fair  in  dealing  with  Niggers,"  answered  Ben. 
But  the  look  of  astonishment  in  Molly's  black  eyes  suddenly  brought 
Ben  Hartright  to  the  full  realization  that  he  was  revealing  the  secrets 
of  his  klan  to  one  of  the  race  he  was  plotting  to  massacre. 

"Of  course  we  don't  include  such  as  you,  Molly,"  he  said,  lightly 
tapping  her  on  the  shoulder.  "You  are  no  Nigger,  you  are  nearly 
as  white  as  I  am." 

"Nearly  as  white,"  echoed  Molly  with  a  sneer.  "Do  you  mean 
to  try  to  choke  it  down  my  throat  that  my  whiteness  would  save  me 
should  your  people  rise  up  against  Niggers  in  Wilmington  ?  Honestly, 
Ben  Hartright,  do  you  mean  that?"  Molly  arose  from  the  sofa  and 
stood  up  before  her  lover  that  she  might  the  better  study  his  face. 
Hartright  was  silent. 

In  Southern  legislative  halls  white  minorities  in  old  Reconstruction 
days  ruled  Republican  majorities  by  appealing  to  the  vanity  of  light- 
skinned  Negro  representatives. 

"You  are  almost  white,  why  vote  with  them  Niggers?"  Ben 
Hartright  was  using  the  old  tactics  ;  he  had  realized  that  he  perhaps 
had  been  careless  with  his  secrets.  "What  I  really  mean,  Molly,  is 
that  you  are  a  friend  of  white  people — that  is  you  are  not  one  of  those 
Nigger  wenches  who  want  to  be  er — er — ladies — that  want  Nigger 
dudes  to  raise  their  hats  to  them— want  to  be  like  white  people  you 
know. ' ' 

"I  understand,"  said  Molly. 

"  We  white  gentlemen  believe  in  having  colored  girl  friends,  and 
we  always  stand  by  them  no  matter  what  happens  "  Molly  momen- 
tarily eyed  the  ceiling. 

"Benny,  did  you  ever  read  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  ?" 

"Yes,  I  have,"  answered  Ben,  but  it  has  been  too  long  ago  to  re- 
member very  much  of  its  contents 

"Why?  Everybody  should  read  that  book  it  seems  to  me  ;  read 
and  read  again  Cassie's  story  of  her  love  for  the  man  who  after  prom- 


38  MOLLY   PIERREPONT. 

ising  to  protect  and  defend  her,  sneaked  away  and  sold  her.  Cassie 
was  almost  white.  Cassie  was  a  white  man's  friend,  and  to  that  man 
she  was  true  ;  but  Cassie's  story  of  betrayal,  disappointment,  misery 
at  the  hands  of  that  long  haired  brute  who  afterwards  became  her 
master,  would  make  the  strongest  heart  weep.  You  will  stand  by 
your  colored  girl  ft  lend.  Perhaps  you  think  you  would,  but  I  doubt 
it,  Ben  Hartright.  When  that  time  comes  that  the  two  races  are  ar- 
rayed against  each  other,  my  fair  complexion  will  be  of  no  avail.  I 
am  a  Nigger,  and  will  be  dealt  with  as  such,  even  by  the  man  who  now 
promises  me  protection." 

Ben  Hartright  quailed  under  Molly's  biting  sarcasm.  He  was  un- 
prepared for  this  change  of  front  on  the  part  of  his  mistress.  His  pre- 
tention of  love  were  not  sufficient  to  create  in  Molly  a  feeling  of  se- 
curity. 

"Then  d'm  it  all  !  you  as  good  as  tell  a  gentleman  to  his  teeth  that 
he  lies  then?  "   said  he  doggedly. 

"  No  ;  I  don' t  mean  to  say  that  you  lie.  What  you  say  to  me  now, 
you  may  earnestly  mean,  but  under  circumstances  just  mentioned,  you 
would  deny  that  you  ever  knew  me.  What  you  have  revealed  tonight 
concerning  your  aims  and  plots,  portrays  to  my  mind  just  who  and 
what  you  are,  and  just  who  and  what  I  am.  Samson  has  revealed  his 
secret  to  his  Delilah,  and  its  Delilah's  duty  to  warn  her  people  of  the 
dangers  that  await  them.  Men  whose  lives  are  threatened  must  be 
warned  ;  women  who  are  in  danger  of  being  ignominiously  dealt  with 
must  be  put  upon  their  guard  ;  must  know  that  these  defenders  of 
virtue,  these  Southern  gentlemen  who  are  thirsting  for  the  blood  of  a 
slanderer  (?)  of  white  women  are  hypocrites,  who  strain  out  a  gnat 
and  swallow  a  camel. ' ' 

"By  the  thunder,  what  do  you  mean  by  such  language?"  and 
Ben  Hartright  arose  from  the  sofa  and  glared  at  the  girl,  his  eyes 
flashing.      "  Do  you  know  that  you  are  talking  to  a  gentleman?  " 

"Be  careful,"  said  Molly,  "You  wouldn't  have  the  women  for 
whom  you  would  be  so  chivalrous  know  who  Ben  Hartright  really  is, 
would  you  ?  " 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  Molly?''  said  Hartright  in  a  more  sub- 
dued voice.     Have  you  joined  the  sanctified  band  ?  ' ' 


MOLLY    PIERREPONT.  39 

"  No  ;  but  I  realize  as  never  before  just  who  and  what  I  am,  and 
your  trying  to  flatter  me  into  the  belief  that  I  am  better  than  black 
women  who  try  to  be  pure,  is  a  revelation  to  me  who  and  what  you 
are.  There  are  men  whom  you  have  naned  to  be  killed  whose  only 
offense  is  that  they  are  respectable  and  independent  ;  and  women  who 
are  hated  because  they  are  not  easy  victims  such  as  I  am — women  who 
will  live  honestly  upon  bread  and  water.  These  are  colored  people 
who  have  so  much  confidence  in  the  better  class  of  white  people,  that 
they  would  not  believe  that  such  a  plot  is  being  laid  for  their  destruc- 
tion." 

Ben  Hartright  put  his  arms  around  Molly's  waist.  "  I  thought  you 
were  a  true  friend  of  white  people,  Molly  ;  but  I  find  that  you  are  not, 
so  let's  drop  the  unpleasant  subject.  If  the  Niggers  keep  away  from 
the  polls,  and  don't  attempt  to  run  a  ticket,  there  will  be  no  trouble  ; 
but  if  they  persist  in  defying  the  whites,  there'll  be  hell.  But  all 
pretty  Nigger  gals  such  as  you  will  be  all  right." 

"Unhand  me  !  "  said  Molly,  twisting  herself  from  his  grasp.  '  Go 
tell  your  hypocritical  associates  in  crime  that  the  deed  they  are  about 
to  commit  will  recoil  upon  their  own  heads,  and  upon  the  heads  of 
their  children.'' 

' '  But — er — now  Molly — ' ' 

"Go  !"  hissed  Molly,  pointing  to  the  door. 

Ben  Hartright  walked  slowly  to  the  door  paused  and  wistfully  eyed 
Molly  who  stood  with  uplifted  hand  pointing  in  that  direction.  "Oh, 
you  are  quite  full  of  race  pride  just  now,  but  when  it  comes  to  decid- 
ing between  the  easy  life  that  a  white  man  pays  for  and  Nigger  drudg- 
ery, you'll  doubtless  change  your  tune.      I  leave  you  to  reflect.  ' 

Hartright  walked  out.  Molly  sank  upon  the  sofa  and  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands.  -'How  true!"  she  sobbed.  "What  have  I 
done?"  but  she  rose  and  her  anguish  was  gone  in  a  twinkling. 
"Easy  life!  Drudgery!  But  here  I  swear  from  this  hour  Molly 
Pierrepont  will  live  ?w  longer  such  a  life. ' ' 

Ben  Hartright  reached  his  home  in  Orange  street  about  three  o'clock, 
noiselessly  opened  the  door  and  strode  up  to  his  apartments,  thinking 
he  would  get  to  bed  without  disturbing  his  young  wife  ;  but  she  was 
not  there.     The  bed  remained  as  it  was  when  the  chambermaid  left 


40  MOLLY    PlERREPONf. 

it  that  morning,  after  giving  it  its  finishing  touches.  Ben  Hartright 
looked  about  the  room  in  wild  amazement.  He  drew  out  his  watch, 
scanned  its  face  eagerly.  "Byginger!"  he  exclaimed,  it's  past  three 
o'clock.  Wonder  where  is  Emily  ?  This  is  indeed  something  un- 
usual."  Thinkiag  perhaps  that  his  child  might  have  taken  ill  during 
the  night  and  that  his  wife  had  remained  in  the  nurse's  room  with  it, 
he  crossed  the  hall  and  rapped  upon  the  door  ;  a  second  rap  brought 
the  nurse  to  the  door  rubbing  her  eyes.  "  What's  the  -matter,  Fan- 
nie ;  is  the  baby  sick  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  sah  !  "  answered  the  girl. 

"Isn't  Miss  Emily  in  there?  " 

"  No,  sah  ;  Mr.  Benny  she  aint  in  heah,  sah. ' ' 

"  Where  in  the  thunder  ts  she  then  f"  roared  Ben  Hartright,  now 
beside  himself  with  rage.  "  Is  this  the  way  you  look  after  your  mis- 
tress?" and  he  seized  the  already  frightened  girl  by  the  shoulders 
and  shook  her  vigorously,  turned  away  before  she  could  utter  a  word 
of  excuse,  and  bounded  down  to  his  mother's  apartments. 

Mrs.  Hartright,  aroused  by  the  noise  above,  was  just  emerging  from 
her  door  to  learn  the  cause  of  it  all.  "Why,  what's  the  matter,  son  ?" 
she  questioned  gently,  as  Ben,  both  angry  and  frightened,  strode  up 
to  where  she  stood. 

"Didn't  you  hear  me  asking  Fannie  where  Emily  is?  Didn't  you 
know  that  she  hasn't  been  in  her  room,  and  here  it  is  nearly  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning  !  " 

'  'Emily  went  out  just  after  tea,  and  I  thought  she  had  returned," 
answered  the  mother.  "Perhaps  she  went  walking  with  some  of  her 
girl  friends,  was  taken  ill  and  had  to  stop  at  one  of  their  homes.  Wait 
Benny,  I'll  dress  and  help  you  to  look  for  her. 

Ben  Hartright  turned  and  walked  slowly  to  the  door  and  paused  to 
wait  for  his  mother.  There  was  a  turn  of  the  door  latch,  a  vigorous 
twist  of  a  key  in  the  lock  ;  the  door  flew  open  and  Emily  Hartright 
walked  in.  She  apparently  did  not  see  her  husband  who  stood  and 
eyed  her  angrily  as  she  entered  and  began  to  ascend  the  steps  to  her 
room. 

"Emily,"  said  Ben,  following  and  seizing  his  wife  by  the  arm. 
"Are  you   mad,  if  not  explain  this  extraordinary  conduct  of  yours. 


MOLLY    PIERREPON?.  41 

Where  have  you  been  ?  ' '  She  turned,  gazed  into  her  husband's  eyes 
for  a  moment,  then  with  one  vigorous  tug,  she  wrenched  her  arm  from 
his  grasp  and  proceeded  up  the  steps.  The  mother  by  this  time  had 
joined  her  son,  and  they  both  followed  the  young  lady  who  had  entered 
her  room  and  was  removing  her  wraps. 

"What's  the  matter  my  darling  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hartright,  throwing 
her  arms  around  her  daughter' s  waist.  ' '  I  was  so  troubled  about  you. 
What  kept  you  out  so  late,  Emily  ?  ' ' 

Wait,  mother,  until  I  have  rested  and  composed  myself,  then  I  will 
explain,"  answered  Emily,  softly. 

Ben  had  sank  into  a  chair  and  sat  with  his  chin  resting  upon  the 
palm  of  his  hand.      Emily  sat  upon  the  side  of  the  bed. 

"Men  go  night  after  night,"  she  said,  "  stay  as  long  as  they  please, 
and  return  in  whatever  condition  they  please  ;  and  to  queries  of  their 
wives,  they  are  evasive  in  their  answers  ;  but  when  a  woman  takes  the 
privilege  of  exercising  her  rights: — " 

"  Her  rights,"  roared  Ben,  jumping  to  his  feet.  "A  lady  goes  out 
of  her  residence,  leaves  her  servant  and  relatives  iii  ignorance  of  her 
destination,  returns  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  to  tell  anxious  hus- 
band and  mother  about  her  rights  !  We'll  have  a  direct  explanation 
from  you,  Mrs.  Hartright,  without  preambling. ' ' 

"I'll  not  be  bullied,  Ben  Hartright,"  answered  the  young  wife 
calmly.  "  Remember  that  when  you  married  me,  you  didn't  marry  a 
chambermaid  or  housekeeper,  but  a  lady  of  one  of  the  first  families  of 
Virginia,  and  such  people  brook  no  bullying,"  and  Emily  arose  and 
glared  at  her  husband  like  a  tigress. 

Ben  Hartright  quailed.  Never  had  he  seen  his  little  wife  in  such  a 
state  of  anger  and  defiance. 

"  If  you  are  man  enough  to  reveal  your  whereabouts  until  the  small 
hours  bpirre  morning,  you  can  tell  where  your  wife  was." 

Ben  Hartright  raised  his  eyes  from  the  floor  and  looked  at  his  wife 
in  amazement. 

"When  you  entered  the  house  of  your  mistress,  Molly  Pierrepont, 
to-night,  I  saw  you.  I,  your  wife,  whom  you  swore  to  honor  and  pro- 
tect, saw  you.  She  saw  you  embrace  and  kiss  a  Negro  woman,  the 
woman  of  a  race  whom  you  pretend  to  despise,  and  whom  you  and 


42  THE  UNION  AID  SOCIETY 

your  pals  are  secretly  scheming  to  cold  bloodedly  murder  and  drive 
from  their  homes.  Take  care  !  God  knows  your  hypocrisy  and  the 
deeds  you  commit  will  recoil  upon  your  own  heads." 

' '  Emily,  are  you  mad  ? ' '  gasped  the  elder  lady  who  stood  as  if 
transfixed  to  the  floor. 

"Ask  him,"  returned  the  young  lady,  "he  knows  whether  or  not 
I  utter  the  truth,  or  whether  I  am  a  victim  of  a  beclouded  brain.  He 
knows  that  he  has  wronged  me  ;  he  knows  that  he  has  lied  to  me.  I 
care  not  for  your  frowns.  You  a  gentleman  ?  You  hate  Niggers,  yet 
you  can  embrace  one  so  fondly.  I  will  no  longer  live  with  such  a 
gentleman,  who  night  after  night  under  the  excuse  of  '  clubs  '  and 
'  business '  spends  his  time  away  from  his  wife,  and  in  company  of  a 
Negro  woman.      I  am  going  home  to  my  people." 

"Now,  Emily,"  said  the  elder  Mrs.  Hartright,  "don' t  start  a  scan- 
dal ;  remember  that  you  are  a  Southerner.  Southern  people  do  not 
countenance  the  airing  of  unpleasant  family  matters  !  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  young  lady,  "  this  fear  of  airing  family  troubles 
on  the  part  of  our  women,  has  made  us  slaves,  while  the  men  are 
licensed  to  indulge  in  all  manner  of  indecencies  with  impunity.  I  will 
be  the  first  Southern  woman  to  sever  the  chain  of  'formality,'  and  cry 
aloud  to  the  world  that  I  leave  my  husband  because  of  his  unfaith- 
fulness.     It  is  my  right,  and  I  will  exercise  that  right." 

Ben  who  had  again  sank  into  his  seat  arose  and  advanced  toward 
his  wife  to  sue  for  forgiveness. 

"Don't  touch  me  !"  she  cried,  with  uplifted  hand.  "The  cup 
is  full.  Go  back  to  her  who  has  monopolized  the  best  portion  of 
your  time  since  you  have  married  me." 

Ben  Hartright  sank  again  into  his  chair  and  buried  his  face  into  his 
hands. 

"Now,  my  darlings,  let  mother  be  the  daysman  between  you," 
said  the  elder  Mrs.  Hartright,  coming  near  carressing  the  young  wife. 
"  Benny  knows  just  to  what  extent  he  has  wronged  you  my  dear,  and 
I  believe  him  honest  enough  and  manly  enough  to  acknowledge  it, 
and  sue  for  forgiveness,  i  leave  you  to  yourselves.  God  grant  that 
you  may  be  enabled  to  peacably  settle  your  difficulties  satisfactorily 
to  you  both,  without  giving  license  to  Madame  Gossip.     God  bless 


MOLLY    PIERREPONT.  43 

you."      Kissing  Emily,  Mrs.  Hartright  descended  to  her  r^om. 

Ben  Hartright  succeeded  in  patching  up  matters  with  his  wife  by 
promising  to  live  a  more  honest  life,  only,  to  break  it,  which  caused 
her  to  make  good  her  threat  and  leave  him. 


44  THE  UNION  AID  SOCIETY 


CHAPTER  VI. 


The  Union  Aid  Society  Holds  a  Meeting. 

The  home  of  Mrs.  West  was  one  of  the  many  snug  little  cottages 
owned  by  the  colored  inhabitants  of  that  section  of  Wilmington 
known  as  "Camp  Land."  It  also  had  the  distinction  of  facing 
Campbell  Street,  the  main  thorougfare  of  that  portion  of  the  city. 
Although  Mrs.  West  knew  something  of  slavery  as  it  existed  in  North 
Carolina,  she  was  free  born;  her  grandfather  having  purchased  his 
freedom,  and  afterwards  that  of  the  rest  of  the  family  before  her 
birth.  The  rule  that  the  free  Negro  was  a  shiftless  being  more  to  be 
pitied  than  envied  by  slaves,  was  not  without  many  exceptions  in 
North  Carolina.  There  were  many  Negroes  in  old  North  Carolina 
who  by  grasping  every  opportunity  to  earn  an  extra  dollar  by  work- 
ing for  neighboring  planters  when  their  own  tasks  were  done,  and 
making  such  useful  articles  as  their  genius  could  contrive,  often  after 
years  of  patient  toiling  and  saving  would  often  astonish  their  masters 
by  offering  to  puschase  their  freedom.  There  were  others  who  paid 
to  their  masters  annually  a  specified  sum  of  money  for  their  time, 
that  they  might  enjoy  the  control  of  their  own  affairs  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. 

For  many  years  before  the  war  my  father  did  public  carting  in  the 
town  of  Fayetteville  as  a  free-man,  his  master  receiving  a  certain 
amount  of  his  earnings.  Of  course  there  were  free  Negroes  whose 
conception  of  freedom  was  a  release  from  manual  toil,  and  who  like 
poor  whites,  lived  a  shiftless  indolent  life,  following  the  sunshine  in 
Winter  and  the  shade  in  Summer. 


THE  ONION   AID  SOCIETV.  45 

Free  Negroes  in  North  Carolina  had  the  right  to  purchase  proper- 
ty and  enjoy  other  limited  privileges.  The  parents  of  Mrs.  West, 
known  as  Burchers,  emigrated  to  the  West  in  the  forties,  where  their 
children  could  be  educated.  After  the  war  Mrs.  West,  with  her 
husband  whom  she  had  met  and  married  in  Ohio,  returned  to  North 
Carolina,  prepared  to  enter  upon  the  work  of  uplifting  the  newly 
emancipated  of  their  unfortunate  race;  and  now  well  advanced  in 
years,  she  could  look  over  many  years  of  active  useful  service  in  the 
cause  of  her  people.  It  was  the  evening  for  the  regular  monthly 
meeting  of  the  Union  Aid  Society  of  which  Mrs.  West  was  President, 
and  several  members  had  already  arrived;  but  in  such  a  season  such 
business  for  which  a  society  of  this  kind  was  organized  would  doubt- 
less be  neglected,  so  pregnant  was  the  air  with  the  all  absorbing  sub- 
ject— politics. 

But  the  Union  Aid  Society  is  composed  exclusively  of  women. 
What  of  that?  Some  of  our  most  skilled  politicians  in  the  South  are 
among  the  women  of  both  races.  Although  they  do  not  take  the 
stump  and  sit  upon  platforms  in  public  assemblages,  they  are  superior 
house-to-house  canvassers,  and  in  their  homes  noiselessly  urge  the 
men  to  do  their  duty.  For  earnest  persistence  and  true  loyalty  to 
the  party  of  her  choice,  the  Negro  woman  of  the  South  outdoes  her 
sister  in  white.  Give  the  ballot  to  the  women  of  the  South,  and  give 
her  dusky  daughters  as  equal  show,  and  a  Solid  South  would  be  a  thing 
of  the  past;  for  the  Negro  woman  is  the  most  loyal  supporter  of  Repub- 
lican principles  in  that  section.  So  radical  is  the  Negro  woman,  that  it  is 
worth  a  husband's,  or  brother's,  or  sweetheart's-  good  standing  in  the 
home  or  society  to  assay  to  vote  a  Democratic  ticket.  Such  a  step 
on  the  part  of  a  Negro  man  has  in  some  instances  broken  up  his 
home.  The  Spartan  loyalty  of  the  Southern  white  woman  to  the 
Confederacy  and  the  Lost  Cause  was  not  m.ri  maiked  than  is  the  fi- 
delity of  the  Negro  woman  to  that  party  which  stood  for  universal  free- 
dom and  the  brotherhood  of  man,  and  whose  triumphant  legions  so 
ignominiously  crushed  Freedom's  sullen  and  vindictive  foe.  Although 
the  Government  provides  for  the  annual  placing  of  a  small  Hag  upon 
the  grave  of  each  of  the  thousands  of  heroes  now  sleeping  in  the 
Southland,  it  is  the  dusky  fingers  of  the  Negro  woman,  perfumed  by 


46  THE   UNION  AID   SOCIETY. 

the  sweet  incense  of  love  and  gratitude  that  places  the  lilac,  the  rose 
and  forget-me-not  there. 

The  Northern  white  woman  in  the  South,  in  order  to  maintain  her 
social  caste,  generally  allows  her  patriotism  to  cool.  But  the  Negro 
woman  sings  patriotic  airs  on  each  30th  of  May  as  she  twines  wreaths 
of  pine  to  lay  upon  the  graves  of  those  who  died  for  her.  Of  course, 
these  women  who  had  gathered  in  the  parlor  of  Mrs.  West's  cottage 
were  intensely  interested  in  the  coming  election  in  Wilmington,  and 
were  ready  to  discuss  the  event  with  all  the  fervor  of  their  patriotic 
souls.  "Ladies,"  said  Mrs.  West  after  the  prayers  had  been  said, 
and  the  minutes  of  the  previous  meeting  read,  "I  confess  that  for  the 
first  time  since  my  election  to  the  presidency  of  this  society,  I  feel  an 
inclination  to  waive  the  transaction  of  its  regular  business,  so  depress- 
ed am  J  over  events  now  crowding  upon  us. "  "I  believe  thats  the 
case  with  every  one, ' '  answered  Mrs.  Cole.  ' '  I  have  received  a  let- 
ter from  the  Chairman  of  the  Executive  Committee,"  continued  Mrs. 
West,  "stating  that  so  grave  is  the  situation  all  over  the  State  that  he 
is  advised  by  the  Governor  himself  to  withdraw  Republican  candi- 
dates from  the  field — a  request  without  a  precedent  in  North  Caro- 
lina." 

"It  would  never  do  to  show  such  cowardice ! "  said  Mrs.  Cole.  "If 
I  were  chairman  of  that  committee  I'd  put  the  ticket  in  the  field  and 
go  to  the  polls  if  the  devils  were  around  it  as  thick  as  shingles  upon  a 
housetop."  "I  was  of  the  same  mind"  answered  Mrs.  West,  "but 
when  the  Governor  of  the  State — when  brave  Daniel  Lane  has  be- 
come apprehensive,  I  can  appreciate  the  gravity  of  the  situation.  I 
have  seen  that  man  walk  undismayed  through  the  streets  of  Wilming- 
ton during  very  turbulent  periods  in  her  history.  I  see  that  in  the 
upper  section  of  the  State  the  Democrats  have  already  organized  Red 
Shirt  Brigades  who  are  riding  through  the  rural  districts  terrorizing 
Negroes,  and  we  |may  look  for  the  same  to  take  place  in  Wilmington. 
Silas  writes  that  they  are  determined  to  carry  the  election.  He  has 
received  two  threatening  letters  and  is  afraid.  You  are  aware  that 
that  monster  has  been,  and  is  advising  the  whites  in  our  State  to 
copy  South  Carolina's  method  of  carrying  elections,  and  they  are 
heeding  his  advice.     I  am  compelled  to  acknowledge  despite  my 


THE  UNION  AID  SOCIETY.  47 

previous  confidence  in  the  integrity  and  honesty  of  our  North  Caro- 
lina white  people  that  my  faith  is  getting  shaky.  The  buying  of  guns 
and  other  weapons  by  poor  whites  who  are  often  unable  to  buy  food, 
means  something.  It  means  that  the  rich  are  going  to  use  them  to 
perform  the  dirty  work  of  intimidation  and  murder  if  necessary  to 
carry  this  electim."  "Colored  men  must  show  their  manhood,  and 
fight  for  their  rights,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wise  the  secretary  who  had 
laid  down  her  pen  and  was  attentively  listening  to  the  president's 
talk.  "But  how  are  they  to  do  it?"  asked  Mrs.  West;  "My  son 
tells  me  that  there  is  not  a  store  in  the  city  that  will  sell  a  Negro  an 
ounce  of  powder.  The  best  thing  to  do — if  such  things  should  hap- 
pen— is  to  stay  in  our  homes,  and  advise  the  men  to  be  cool.  Rash- 
ness on  their  part  would  be  all  the  excuse  the  unprincipalled  whites 
would  want  to  kill  them.  Editor  Manly' s  reply  to  Mrs.  Fell's  letter 
in  August  is  now  brought  forward  to  be  used  by  their  stump  orators 
to  fan  the  flames  of  race  hatred."  "I  wish  he  hadn't  written  it," 
interrupted  Mrs.  Cole.  "It  was  a  truth  unwisely  said,"  answered 
Mrs.  Wise,  "and  by  a  man  who  meant  to  defend  his  own;  so  let  us 
make  the  best  of  it.  I  would  not  have  Editor  Manly  feci  for  a  mo- 
ment that  we  are  such  ingrates  as  to  say  anything  against  him." 

"The  most  important  thing  that  I  intended  to  mention,  and  which 
makes  me  feel  that  our  situation  is  a  critical  one,"  continued  Mrs. 
West,  "was  a  letter  that  came  this  morning  from  Molly  Pierrepont. " 
"Molly  PierreponM"  echo  every  one  almost  in  one  breath.  "Poor 
erring  girl!"  said  Mrs.  Wise  slowly.  "What  has  happened  her?" 
"Molly  has  written  me  a  long  and  even  affectionate  letter.  She 
writes,  '  Be?i  Hartright  confided  to  me  the  other  night  the  ghastly 
plans  of  the  Rough  Riders,  a  band  made  up  from  the  most  respecta- 
ble of  the  whites.  7 hey  are  to  be  reinforced  from  all  over  the  State, 
a?id  even  from  other  States  for  the  purpose  of  killing  and  driving  from 
Wilmington  objt  ctionable  blacks  and  whiles.  Jolm  Holloway,  Nicholas 
McDuffy,  Editor  Manly,  John  Brown,  Lawyers  Scott,  Moore  and 
Henderson,  George  Z.  French,  Thomas  Miller,  Ariah  Bryant, 
McLane  Lofton,  Pickens  and  Bell  and  others  of  prominence  and 
independenence  are  to  be  special  marks  of  vengeaficc.  I  beg  you  my 
dear  Aunt  Betty,  warn  these  people.  I  shall  take  it  upon  myself  to 
give  the  alarm,  for  these  are  my  people. ' 


48  THE   UNION   AID   SOCIETY. 

"There  is  some  good  in  this  wayward  child  after  all,"  said  Mrs. 
West,  pushing  her  spectacles  back,  and  looking  up.  "But  who  of 
these  people  would  believe  that  such  was  in  store  for  them?  These 
men  would  not  leave  their  homes  without  a  severe  struggle."  "The 
Government  should  protect  its  citizens  in  their  rights,"  said  Mrs. 
Wise.  "Government?  Bah!"  answered  Mrs.  West.  "Here's  the 
highest  official  of  the  State  afraid  for  his  own  life."  "Well  if  the 
Governor  is  incapable  of  coping  with  the  situation,  the  President  has 
the  power  to  send  in  the  troops,"  said  Mrs.  Cole.  "Yes,  but  will 
he  use  that  power?  I  don't  believe  McKinley  is  going  to  do  any- 
thing to  offend  the  Southern  whites  if  they  kill  every  Negro  in  the 
South.  The  interests  of  an  alien  race  are  too  trivial  to  risk  the 
sundering  of  the  ties  that  are  supposed  by  the  North  to  bind  the  two 
sections.  Each  State  according  to  the  Southern  view,  is  a  sovereignty 
itself,  and  can  kill  and  murder  its  inhabitants  with  impunity.  There 
is  no  John  Brown,  Beecher,  nor  Sumner,  nor  Douglass,  Garrison, 
Phillips  and  others  of  that  undaunted  host  who  were  willing  and  did 
risk  persecution  and  death  for  us;  this  generation  has  not  produced 
such  precious  characters.  God  is  our  only  helper  and  we  must  look 
to  Him  for  deliverance.  We  are  living  too  well  for  the  broken  down 
aristocrats  and  poor  whites  who  are  disappointed  because  we  are  not 
all  domestics. 

"Molly  expresses  her  intention  to  call,  and  I  was  hoping  she 
would  come  before  you  all  left.  Perhaps  you  know  Molly  Pierre- 
pont,  for  a  woman  of  her  reputation  cannot  help  being  known  to  a 
small  community;  but  you  are  not  all  aware  of  the  fact  that  I  raised 
her,  and  took  special  pains  to  give  her  a  good  education,  and  I 
thought  she'd  requite  mc  by  trying  to  lead  a  useful  life. "  "But 
you  know  Mrs.  West,  that  Negro  girls  of  attractiveness  in  the  South 
have  a  great  battle  to  fight,  if  they  wish  to  be  pure,"  said  Mrs.  Wise. 
"Thai's  very  true"  answered  Mrs.  West;  "I  have  often  pondered 
over  the  thought  since  she  left  me  live  years  ago,  that  the  conditions 
under  which  she  was  born  may  have  had  something  to  do  with  shap- 
ing her  course  in  life.  We.  innocent  as  we  may  be,  must  suffer  for 
the  iniquities  of  our  parents.  Before  the  war,  there  lived  in  Bruns- 
wick a  large  slave  owner  by  name  of  Philpot.      He  was  the  father  of 


THE  UNION   AID  SOCIETY.  49 

Molly's  mother,  one  of  his  slaves.  After  the  surrender,  this  woman 
did  not  leave  the  plantation  of  her  master  but  remained  there  until 
her  death.  The  child,  Molly's  mother,  whose  name  was  Eliza,  at 
the  time  of  her  mother's  death  was  a  pretty  lass  of  fourteen;  so 
attractive  that  the  father  then  an  old  man  could  not  curb  his  brutal 
passion.  It  is  needless  for  me  to  speak  plainer  ladies.  There  is  a 
passage  of  Scripture  which  reads  as  follows:  'The  dog  has  returned 
to  his  vomit,  and  the  sow  that  was  washed  is  wallowing  in  the  mire.' 
The  young  mother  brought  the  child  to  Wilmington,  gave  her  to  me, 
and  disappeared.  Molly  was  then  about  four  years  old.  Those  who 
knew  of  me  and  my  affairs  know  how  carefully  I  raised  the  girl.  She 
graduated  from  Hampton  with  honors,  has  a  fair  musical  education, 
and  a  voice  that  might  have  made  her  a  fortune.  Imagine  how 
proud  her  foster  mother  was  when  she  returned  home  from  school,  so 
full  of  promise.  If  she  would  only  leave  this  place  and  seek  to  live  a 
better  life  in  some  strange  community  I  would  be  more  content.  It 
would  be  hard  for  her  to  do  so  here.  This  Ben  Hartright  and 
another  white  gentleman  had  a  free  fight  over  her  about  a  month  ago. 
Ben  was  prevented  from  using  his  pistol  by  the  girl's  timely  inter- 
ference. That  fiend  of  Georgia  who  is  urging  the  men  of  her  race  to 
revel  in  the  blood  of  their  fellows,  would  do  them  more  good  by 
urging  upon  them  the  necessity  of  good  morals.  Doubtless  this  Ben 
Hartright  is  one  of  the  leaders  of  this  proposed  raid  in  Wilmington 
to  drive  out  undesirable  citizens,  yet  he  is  so  low  morally,  that  he 
leaves  a  richly  furnished  home,  a  refined  wife  and  pretty  child  to 
fight  over  a  Negro  woman,  for  such  he  has  I  hear."  "But  this  let- 
ter proves  that  there  are  redeemable  qualities  in  Molly  despite  her 
birth  and  bad  life.  Magdalene  made  a  devoted  follower  of  Christ, 
you  know,  said  Mrs.  Wise;  "with  God's  help,  she  can  if  she  wills, 
pull  away  from  her  present  surroundings  and  be  a  good  woman." 
"Yes,  she  says  in  her  letter  that  'never  did  the  full  realization  of 
what  I  am,  come  so  plainly  before  me,  as  tvhen  this  villian  so  cooly 
told  me  of  his  plans.  I  drove  him  from  my  presence  as  I  would  a 
dog.'  This  shows  that  Molly's  race  pride  is  not  entirely  blunted  by 
dissipation  and  unholy  living.  I  counsel  you  all  ere  you  depart,  to 
remember  that  we  are  at  the  mercy  of  the  whites,  and  each  one  of  us 


50  THE  UNION  AID  SOCIETV. 

should  do  all  in  our  power  to  show  our  men  the  wisdom  of  coolness. 
By  this,  with  God's  help,  we  may  be  able  to  avert  the  evil  threat- 
ened. I  declare  the  Union  Aid  Society  adjourned,  subject  to  the 
call  of  the  president." 


MOLLY'S   ATONEMENT. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Molly's  Atonement. 

A  few  evenings  after  the  unpleasant  interview  between  Molly 
Pierrepont  and  Ben  Hartright,  Silas  Wingate,  chairman  of  the 
Republican  Executive  Committee,  sat  alone  in  his  office.  In  that 
morning's  mail  had  come  to  him  a  letter  from  the  Governor,  full 
of  discouraging  news  as  to  the  chances  of  Republican  success 
throughout  the  State,  and  advising  that  for  the  safety  of  life  Re- 
publican candidates  be  withdrawn  from  the  field — a  request  unpre- 
cedented in  the  history  of  the  State.  "This  would  be  too  cowardly 
a  backdown,"  he  soliloquized.  "The  situation  is  not  so  serious 
perhaps  as  the  Governor  imagines.  Such  bluffs  the  Democrats 
have  resorted  to  more  than  once  before,  but  they  didn't  deter  us 
in  the  least.  We  put  our  ticket  in  the  field  and  fought  hard  for  its 
election."  But  never  before  had  the  chairman  of  the  Executive 
Committee  seen  in  New  Hanover  County  such  grim  and  warlike 
activity  on  the  part  of  the  Democrats.  The  arming  of  the  poor 
whites,  the  hiring  of  sterner  implements  of  war,  secret  house-to- 
house  meetings,  and  the  stern  refusal  of  dealers  to  sell  a  black 
man  a  deadly  weapon  of  any  description  or  as  much  as  an  ounce 
of  powder  meanr  something  more  than  bluff.  Yet  so  strong 
was  the  faith  of  Mr.  Wingate  in  the  integrity  of  the  better  classes 
of  Wilmington's  white  citizens  that  he  was  slow  to  grasp  the  situa- 
tion although  the  evidence  was  so  overwhelming.  He  took  the 
letter  from  the  desk  and  read  it  for  the  fourth  time  since  receiving 
it,  riveting  his  eyes  long  and  intently  upon  the  signature  affixed. 
Of  all  the  years  he  had  known  the  Governor  he  had  never  known 
him  to  shrink  or  show  cowardice  in  any  form  whatever,  although 
he'd  passed  through  such  crises  as  would  tend  to  test  the  mettle 


52  MOLLY'S  ATONEMENT. 

of  any  man.  it  matters  not  how  brave.  "Surely  the  situation  must 
be  terrible!"  finally  observed  Mr.  Wingate,  throwing  the  letter 
upon  the  desk  and  whirling  around  in  his  chair.  I  will  call  a 
meeting  and  put  the  matter  before  the  committee.  When  that 
man  says  back  down  then  surely  doomsday  is  not  far  off." 

There  was  a  timid  knock  at  the  door.  Feeling  that  perhaps  it 
was  one  of  his  colleagues  dropping  in  for  a  chat  upon  the  all-ab-  " 
sorbing  topic  of  the  day,  Mr.  Wingate  did  not  rise  or  turn  his 
face  in  that,  direction,  but  simply  bid  the  visitor  enter.  The  latch 
was  timidly  turned,  followed  by  light  footsteps,  accompanied  by 
the  rustle  of  skirts,  and  before  he  could  turn  his  head  to  see  who 
this  unexpected  visitor  might  be,  the  figure  had  glided  up  to  his 
chair  and  two  soft  hands  were  pressed  over  his  eyes.  "Now,  just 
guess  who  it  is.  I  will  not  release  my  hold  until  you  do,"  was  the 
soft  command.  "Now,  as  I  was  expecting  only  politicians  to-night 
and,  of  course,  no  visitor  in  petticoats,  I  should  be  excused  from 
trying  to  guess  who  you  are  on  these  grounds,"  answered  Mr. 
Wingate,  trying  to  force  the  hands  which  were  firmly  pressing 
clown  upon  his  eyes.  "In  such  times  as  these  you  are  likely  to  see 
even  the  women  in  the  forefront  in  the  fray,  and  doing  even  more 
than  merely  making  calls,"  returned  the  visitor,  releasing  her  hold 
and  stepping  in  front  of  Mr.  Wingate.  "Why.  Molly  Pierrcpont! 
What  brings  you  here?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Wingate,  rising  and  star- 
ing at  his  visitor,  who  unceremoniously  sank  into  a  chair.  "I  am 
somewhat  interested  in  this  campaign  myself — astonishing  intelli- 
gence I  know,"  calmly  replied  the  visitor;  "yet  I  am  going  to  as- 
tonish you  more  by  saying  that  I  have  information  to  impart  to 
the  chairman  of  the  Executive  Committee  that  will  be  of  great 
value  to  him  in  conducting  tin's  campaign."  Molly's  calm  de- 
meanor, so  unlike  a  woman  of  her  disposition  and  temperament, 
struck  Mr.  Wingate  somewhat  humorously.  Molly  Pierrcpont, 
having  chosen  a  life  of  shame  that  she  might — if  only  clandes- 
tinely— associate  with  and  enjoy  the  favors  of  the  men  of  the  white 
race,  would  be  the  last  person  of  the  race  to  take  a  stand  in  its 
defense  to  give  aid  to  the.  Negro  in  his  combat  with  the  white  man, 
politically  or  otherwise.    Women  of  Molly's  stamp,  possessing  no 


MOLLY'S    ATONEMENT.  53 

race  pride,  had  never  been  race  defenders,  so  it  was  plausible  for 
Mr.  Wingate  to  feel  that  the  woman  was  jesting,  or  that  she  was 
sent  by  his  enemies  into  his  camp  as  a  spy.  "In  our  present  di- 
lemma the  Republican  Committee  stands  much  in  need  of  informa- 
tion and  advice,"  said  Mr.  Wingate,  slowly.  "Things  are  assum- 
ing quite  a  serious  aspect;  you  are  in  position  to  get  a  good  deal 
of  information  as  to  the  maneuvers  of  the  enemy.  But,  my  dear 
girl,  if  you  are  here  to  aid  us,  have  you  counted  the  cost?"  Mr. 
Wingate  knew  that  Molly  Pierrepont  was  the  mistress  of  one  of 
Wilmington's  best  citizens,  a  bitter  Democrat,  and  a  reputed 
leader  of  the  White  Supremacy  League;  that  she  was  well  cared 
for,  that  her  gowns,  etc.,  equaled  in  quality  and  construction  those 
of  her  paramour's  wife,  and,  considering  her  love  for  such  ease 
and  luxury,  to  come  out  and  reveal  the  doings,  and  openly  de- 
'  nounce  the  schemes  of  the  party  of  her  paramour,  was  a  sacrifice 
that  a  woman  of  her  character  was  not  generally  ready  to  make — 
in  fact,  such  thoughts  did  not  find  lodgment  in  her  brain.  In  the 
flattering  embrace  of  the  Philistine  all  noble  aspirations  ordinarily 
become  extinct.  Mr.  Wingate's  interrogation  was  followed  by  a 
brief  pause,  which  caused  Molly  to  move  uneasily  in  her  chair.  "I 
see,  Silas  Wingate,  that  you  question  my  sincerity,"  she  said, 
slowly.  "I  can't  blame  you,  though.  It  is  perfectly  natural  for 
such  as  I  to  be  arrayed  with  the  whites  or  be  neutral,  stifling  all 
thoughts  of  being  of  service  to  my  wronged  people,  because  my 
life  belies  it.  But  I  am  sincere,  Silas;  believe  me,"  and  Molly 
reached  over  and  laid  her  hand  upon  the  arm  of  Mr.  Wingate, 
whose  look  betrayed  his  incredulity.  "In  spite  of  the  lowliness  of 
my  birth,  and  the  life  I  have  chosen,  some  good  remains  in  me." 
She  went  on :  "My  fair  complexion  and  life  of  ease  have  not  made 
me  forget  that  I  am  identified  with  the  oppressed  and  despised." 
"Thank  God!  thank  God!"  said  Mr.  Wingate,  his  face  brightening. 
"There  is  a  ring  of  sincerity  in  your  voice,  my  dear,  that  banishes 
doubt."  "I  come  to-night  to  warn  you,  Silas,"  continued  Molly. 
"Before  many  moons  Wilmington  will  be  the  scene  of  a  bloody 
race  war.  Ben  Hartright  is  my  medium  of  information.  He  came 
to  my  house  last  evening,  and,  imbued  with  the  feeling  that  I  was 


54  MOLLY'S   ATONRMENT. 

in  sympathy  with  the  white  element,  revealed  to  me  the  dastardly 
plot  in  all  its  blood-curdling  details."  Mr.  Wingate  trembled  and 
shook  like  an  aspen  leaf  as  Molly  named  the  men  and  women  sin- 
gled out  as  victims.  "These  people  have  ample  time  now  to  make 
good  their  escape.  Tell  them,  Silas,  that  the  best  whites  are  in 
this  move,  and  they  are  determined  to  carry  it  to  the  bitter  end, 
and  their  only  safety  is  in  flight.  Ben  tells  me  that  the  plans  are 
well  laid,  that  men  will  be  here  to  assist  in  the  dirty  work  from  as 
far  South  as  Texas.  I  listened  patiently  to  Hartright's  recital  and 
then  denounced  him  and  his  cohorts  as  infamous  cowards!"  "Did 
you  dare?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Wingate,  gazing  eagerly  into  Molly's 
face.  "I  drove  him  from  my  presence."  Mr.  Wingate  drew  nigh 
and  laid  his  hand  caressingly  upon  Molly's  head.  "You  have 
risked  much,"  he  said,  eagerly.  "I  fully  realize  that,"  returned 
Molly.  "When  he  had  left  me,  what  I  had  said  ana  done  came 
home  with  its  full  force,  but,  like  Jephthah,  I  had  sworn,  and  will 
not  go  back;  and  here  now,  as  I  did  then,  I  swear  with  uplifted 
hand  to'  renounce  forever  my  life  of  shame,  and  will  be  no  longer 
a  Magdalene!"  "Angels  record  thy  vow  in  heaven,"  said  Mr. 
Wingate.  "You  can,  with  God's  help,  be  true  to  your  vow,  for 
Magdalene,  who  became  one  of  the  faithful,  was  a  greater  sinner 
than  you,  Molly."  "But  Magdalene  perhaps  never  threw  away 
the  opportunities  for  good  that  I  have,"  answered  Molly,  who  had 
arisen  and  begun  to  pace  the  floor.  "Magdalene  is  not  charged 
with  having  spurned  the  love  and  sent  to  a  premature  grave  a  man 
who  offered  to  honor  and  protect  her  through  life."  "Don't  brood 
over  the  past,  Molly,"  said  Mr.  Wingate,  a  grass-covered  mound 
in  Pine  Forest  Cemetery  rising  before  him.  "Let  the  dead  past 
be  gone."  "I  will  not!  I  cannot!"  said  Molly,  pausing.  "The  past 
will  spur  me  to  higher  aims  in  the  future.  I  never  can  forget  the 
time  that  Harold  came  to  make  a  last  plea  to  me  to  be  his  wife, 
expressing  his  willingness  to  make  every  sacrifice  for  my  happi- 
ness. He  had  bright  hopes  of  success  in  his  profession.  Yet 
I  spurned  his  offer  to  live  a  life  of  shame  with  a  white  man.  You 
know  he  went  to  Macon  afterwards,  and  there  as  a  physician  built 
up  quite  a  lucrative  practice.    He  wrote  me  often;  he  spoke  of  his 


MOLLY'S    ATONEMENT.  55 

prosperity  and  his  unhappiness  without  me  to  share  it.  He  could 
not  forget  me.  I  tried  to  forget  him  by  plunging  deeper  into  sin. 
It's  some  three  years  ago  now  since  the  last  letter  came,  in  which 
he  said,  'I  am  dying!  dying!  dying  for  you!'  I  tried  to  make  light 
of  it  as  perhaps  merely  a  jest.  But,  Silas,  you  know  that  it's  quite 
two  years  now  since  they  buried  the  heart  which  I  had  broken  in 
Pine  Forest  Cemetery.  Harold!  Harold!  If  I  could  only  call  you 
back  with  those  sunny  days  of  innocence.  No  one  knows  but 
God  what  anguish  I  have  suffered  since  you  left  me.  But  I  was 
unworthy  of  you,  Harold,  unworthy!''  The  woman  had  bowed 
her  head  upon  the  desk  and  was  sobbing  convulsively.  "Oh,  that 
you  could  come  back  to  me,  Harold!  Harold,  tender  and  true. 
How  gladly  would  I  accept  your  offer  now,  Harold.  You  would 
forgive  me,  unworthy  me."  Her  voice  sank  into  an  incoherent 
murmur.  Mr.  Wingate  was  deeply  moved.  He  arose  and  bent 
over  her. 

"Courage,  my  child,  courage,"  he  whispered,  soothingly.  "You 
have  just  started  out  to  do  the  noblest  work  of  your  life.  There 
are  many  years  before  you  to  live  nobly  and  amend  for  the  past. 

"  'Up,  faint  heart,  up!    Immortal  life 
Is  lodged  within  thy  frame. 
Then  let  no  recreant  tho't  or  deed 
Divert  thy  upward  aim. 

Shall  earth's  brief  ills  appall  the  brave? 

Shall  manly  hearts  despond? 
Up,  faint  heart,  up!     The  blackest  cloud 

But  veils  the  heavens  beyond.'  " 

These  inspired  lines  caused  Molly  to  raise  her  head.  "I  must 
command  myself,"  she  said,  firmly,  "for  what  1  have  to  do  re- 
quires courage."  She  arose  and  laid  her  hand  caressingly  upon 
Mr.  Wingate's  shoulder.  'You  will  warn  them,  won't  you,  Silas? 
Keep  the  men  from  the  polls.  Surrender  everything.  Better  to 
lose  a  vote  than  lose  a  life."  She  moved  toward  the  door,  Mr. 
Wingate  following.  Laying  her  hand  upon  the  knob,  she  paused 
and  faced  him.  "Coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before,"  she 
said.    "I  fear  that  our  days  of  freedom  are  at  an  end  in  Wilming- 


56  MOLLY'S  ATONEMENT. 

ton.  Good  night,"  and  Molly  Pierrepont  was  gone.  "Poor  girl, 
poor  girl,"  said  Mr.  Wingate,  as  he  locked  the  door.  She  might 
have  been  a  queen,  but,  like  the  base  Judean,  she  threw  a  pearl 
away  richer  than  all  her  tribe. 

"  'Of  all  the  sad  words  of  tongue  or  pen 

The  saddest  are  these,  'It  might  have  been.' 
"Harold  Carlyle's  youthful  life  was  blighted  because  he  could 
not  give  up  this  woman  who  was  unworthy  of  him.     But  at  last 
repentance  has  come.    God  forgive  her." 


t)R.  JOSE.  5? 


CHAPTER    VII. 


Dr.  Jose. 

I  will  read  for  your  consideration  this  evening  Joshua,  tenth 
chapter,  eighth  and  tenth  verses,  which  are  as  follows: 

"And  the  Lord  said  unto  Joshua,  fear  them  not,  for  I  have  de- 
livered them  into  thine  hand.  There  shall  not  a  man  of  them 
stand  before  thee. 

"And  the  Lord  discomfited  them  before  Israel  and  slew  them 
with  great  slaughter  at  Gibeon  and  chased  them  along  the  way 
that  goeth  up  to  Beth-horon  and  smote  them  to  Azekah  and  unto 
Makkedah." 

Thus  read  the  pastor  of  one  of  Wilmington's  Presbyterian 
churches  at  the  beginning  of  one  of  the  weekly  prayer  meetings. 
"Brethren,"  said  he,  "I  have  chosen  these  two  verses  of  Scripture 
this  evening  because  my  mind  is  as,  I  believe,  yours  are — weight- 
ed down  by  the  situation  that  confronts  the  white  people  of  this 
city.  No  doubt  all  of  you  would  like  to  see  white  man's  govern- 
ment permanently  restored,  although  you  are  most  of  you  averse 
to  resorting  to  physical  force  to  accomplish  that  end.  While  most 
all  Biblical  students  believe  and  teach  that  God  told  Joshua  to  de- 
stroy these  Amorites,  Canaanites  and  Jebusites  because  of  their 
wickedness,  I  go  further  and  say  that  they  were  to  be  destroyed 
because  they  were  the  black  descendants  of  Ham,  the  accursed 
son  of  Noah.  Joshua  was  commanded  to  utterly  destroy  them  or 
put  them  under  subjection  according  to  God's  word — 'Cursed  be 
Canaan,  servant  of  servants  shall  he  be.'  The  Jew  in  this  instance 
represented  Shem,  the  blessed  son,  who  was  to  triumph  over  Ham 
and  keep  him  forever  in  subjection.    God  has  blackened  with  his 


58  DR.   ]OSE. 

curse  the  descendants  of  this  cursed  son  of  Noah  that  Shem  and 
Japheth  may  ever  know  who  the  cursed  of  God  is.  You  who  are 
hesitating  in  doubt  as  whether  it  is  right  to  use  force  to  put  this 
descendant  of  Ham  in  his  rightful  place — the  place  which  God 
ordained  that  he  should  be — I  counsel  you  to  ponder  over  the 
passages  of  Scripture  just  read.  The  education  of  the  Negro  is 
giving  him  an  advantage  that  justifies  our  apprehension.  This, 
combined  with  accumulated  wealth,  make  him  a  subject  for  grave 
and  careful  consideration.  We  are  in  a  condition  of  subjection 
under  Negro  rule  and  domination  that  justifies  the  taking  of  the 
sword.  We  are  God's  chosen  people,  the  banner  carriers  of  civili- 
zation. We  civilized  the  Negro  and  set  him  free,  and  it's  our  right 
to  return  him,  if  necessary,  to  his  former  condition  of  servitude. 

"The  meeting  is  now  open  for  prayer,  praise  and  exhortation." 
Saying  this,  Dr.  Jose  took  his  seat. 

When  the  country  was  wrought  up  over  the  question  of  slavery 
it  was  the  Presbyterian  Church  South  that  drafted  resolutions  de- 
claring that  "Slavery  is  a  divine  institution."  If  a  divine  institu- 
tion, then  the  destruction  of  that  institution  was  wrong,  and  the 
champions  of  freedom  and  the  brotherhood  of  man  open  violators 
of  divine  law.  If  it  is  the  will  of  God  that  the  dusky  children  of 
Ham  are  to  ever  serve  their  brethren  and  ever  to  be  reminded  of 
their  inferiority,  then  why  not  the  professing  Christian,  the  minis- 
ter of  the  Gospel,  join  in  the  work  of  carrying  out  God's  decree? 

The  victory  of  Union  guns  at  Fort  Fisher  brought  many  carpet- 
baggers to  Wilmington,  many  of  them  thrifty  men  of  enterprise, 
who  willingly  assisted  their  brethren  to  restore  life  to  that  devas- 
tated town.  Quite  a  goodly  number  of  these  good  people  wor- 
shipped God  in  Wilmington's  Presbyterian  Church.  Therefore, 
among  these  cool  and  thoughtful  Northerners  the  ministers'  ex- 
hortation to  retort  to  the  shotgun  was  not  very  favorably  com- 
mented upon  at  that  meeting.  But  this  did  not  in  the  least  damp- 
en the  ardor  of  this  hot-blooded  Virginian.  He  went  home,  and 
instead  of  kneeling,  as  usual,  by  his  bedside  to  pray,  he  knelt  in 
1  i is  study.  "Lord,  we  are  sorely  tried;  the  enemies  of  thy  chosen 
people  are  waxing  stronger  and  stronger.     Thou  art  a  God  of 


DR.  JOSE. 

battle.    Thou  didst  in  days  of  old  lead  thy  children  to  victory  over 
the  enemies.     Shall  we  this  day  rise  in  our  might?     Shall  we 
smite  with  the  sword?"    There  are  many  instances  recorded  where 
men  strong  in  faith  have  heard  the  voice  of  God  assuring  them  of 
His  divine  approval,  that  He  was  ready  to  lead  them  to  victory. 
But  Dr.  Jose  heard  no  voice,  felt  no  divine  presence  near  him. 
He  arose,  took  his  Bible  and  turned  again  to  the  wars  of  Joshua 
and  the  terrible  triumphs  of  Jehovah.    Mrs.  Jose,  seeing  that  her 
husband  lingered  longer  than  usual  in  his  study  that  night,  glided 
softly  in  to  see  what  so  absorbed  his  attention.    "Why  do  you  sit 
up  so  late  to-night,  my  dear?"  she  asked,  softly,  laying  a  hand 
gently  upon  her  husband's  shoulders.     "I  am  exceedingly  trou- 
bled to-night,  Mary,  darling,"  returned  the  minister.    "This  ques- 
tion of  Negro  Domination  is  troubling  us.    We  are  about  to  the 
point  of  desperation.     Negroes  are  becoming  so  bold  that  our 
white  angels  are  no  longer  safe  on  our  streets.    We  have  made 
up  our  minds  to  arm  ourselves  and  shake  off  the  yoke."     Mrs. 
Jose  gently  closed  the  book  and  laid  her  hand  caressingly  upon 
her  husband's  head.    '"Cease  to  ponder  over  and  keep  before  you 
the  old  Scripture,  with  its  martial  spirit.     Remember  Christ  and 
the  doctrine  He  came  to  teach.    He  came  to  teach  the  new  com- 
mandment, to  heal  the  broken  hearted,  to  release  the  captives. 
'Verily,  brethren,  avenge  not  yourselves,  for  it  is  writeen  Ven- 
geance is  mine,  I  will  repay,  sajth  the  Lord.'    What  would  Jesus 
do  under  such  circumstances?    His  was  the  spirit  of  love.     He 
would  not  break  the  bruised  reed  nor  quench  the  smoking  flax. 
Come  away,  darling,  and  leave  the  regulation  of  everything  to 
God."    "But  Mary,"  persisted  the  minister,  "you  don't  understand 
the  situation.    We,  the  men  of  Wilmington,  see  utter  ruin  in  store 
for  us  unless  something  is  done  to  check  the  Negro.    Our  women 
can  scarcely  venture  out  alone  after  dark,  so  ugly  and  bold  has  he 
become  under  our  lenient  treatment."    "This  is  all  imaginary,  my 
dear,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Jose.    "I  am  afraid  that  you  have  allowed 
yourself  to  be  influenced  by  these  designing  politicians,  whose 
desire  to  gain  power  has  stifled  their  love  for  truth.     Rev.  Dr. 
Jose  is  a  Christian.     Dr.  Jose  is  a  minister  of  the  Gospel,  who 


CO  £>R.  ]OSB. 

should  not  be  enticed  by  sinners  into  evil.  It  matters  not  how 
justifiable  the  deed  may  seem,  you,  my  darling,  cannot  afford  to 
lend  either  hand  or  voice  in  this  contemplated  work.  He  that 
taketh  the  sword  shall  perish  by  the  sword.'  Our  homes,  our  fire- 
sides, our  women  are  perfectly  safe.  The  only  uneasy  ones 
among  us  are  those  who  want  offices.  Come  away,  my  darling; 
leave  wickedness  for  the  wicked  to  do;  you  cannot  afford  to  take  a 
hand  in  it."  Mrs.  Jose  took  her  husband  by  the  hand  and  gently 
led  him  to  his  bedchamber.  How  much  happier  man  would  be  if 
in  such  trying  periods  of  life  he'd  heed  the  counsel  of  the  angel  of 
his  bosom.  But  those  who  read  the  account  of  the  massacre  of 
November,  1898,  learned  that  among  that  body  of  men,  who, 
armed  to  the  teeth,  marched  to  Dry  Pond  on  that  fatal  morning 
was  a  minister  of  the  Gospel.  Some  papers  published  the  text 
which  that  minister  of  the  Gospel  took  to  preach  from  the  Sun- 
day following,  "We  have  taken  a  city,"  etc. 

But  those  hands  which  turned  the  leaves  of  the  sacred  word 
were  crimson  with  the  blood  of  the  defenseless.  "And  Pilate  took 
a  basin  of  water  and  washed  his  hands  before  the  multitude." 
But  would  we  suppose  that  Pilate  washed  his  hands  only  once? 
Doubtless  far  into  the  night,  when  the  faint  shouts  of  triumph 
from  the  enemies  of  God  resounded  through  that  ancient  city, 
Pilate  arose  from  his  bed  and  washed  his  hands  again,  but  the 
blood  stains  were  still  there.  The  court  scene  appears.  The  cry 
of  the  Pharisees  rings  in  his  ears,  the  humble  Nazarene  stands 
bound  before  him,  then  Calvary,  with  the  three  ghastly  instru- 
ments of  death  upon  its  brow,  looms  up.  "Out,  damned  spot! 
will  these  hands  never  be  clean?"  The  blood  stains  upon  his 
hands  have  doubtless  worried  Dr.  Jose  somewhat,  and  all  the 
others  who  joined  with  him  in  the  work  of  carnage.  But  the 
blood  stains  are  on  their  hands  still,  and  the  groans  and  wails  of 
innocents  must  ever  ring  in  their  ears.  "It  was  a  knavish  piece  of 
work."  "Tell  it  not  in  Gath,  publish  it  not  in  the  streets  of  Aske- 
lon,  lest  the  daughters  of  the  Philistines  rejoice,  lest  the  daughters 
of  the  uncircumcised  triumph." — II  Samuel,  i,  20. 


GEORGE   HOWE. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

George  Howe. 

From  the  fall  of  Fort  Fisher  and  political  upheavals  of  the  Re- 
construction period  to  the  awful  tragedy  of  1898,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  few  tragic  scenes.  Wilmington  had  been  the  theatre  of 
one  continuous  comedy,  performed  by  gifted  players,  whose 
names  and  faces  will  ever  remain  indelibly  fixed  in  the  memory. 
Phillis,  "State  Mary"  Tinny,  George  Howe,  Uncle  Abram,  Bill 
Dabney,  "Uncle  Billy"'  pass  over  the  stage  before  me  as  I  write. 
But  of  those  who  unwittingly  struggled  for  the  foremost  rank  in 
the  line  of  fun-making,  George  Howe  must  be  the  acknowledged 
star. 

Unlike  others  of  the  same  school,  whose  minds  had  become  un- 
balanced by  overwork,  worry  or  disease,  George  Howe  was  born 
a  fool.  Being  a  child  of  honorable  and  respectable  parentage,  the 
playmates  with  whom  he  associated  in  his  early  youth  were  of 
that  class-who  regarded  his  imbecility  as  a  terrible  affliction,  were 
charitable  and  kind,  never  allowing  others  to  impose  upon  this 
simple  fellow,  who  was  incapable  of  taking  his  own  part.  But  as 
George  Howe  advanced  in  years  he  gradually  threw  off  his  stu- 
pidity, and  although  he  never  outgrew  the  habit  of  keeping  his 
mouth  open,  he  ceased  to  slobber,  and  acquired  the  habit  of  look- 
ing respectable.  He  entered  school  and  became  quite  proficient  in 
one  branch  of  study  in  particular — he  was  an  excellent  reader.with 
a  wonderfully  retentive  memory.  But  he  never  outgrew  his  sim- 
ple-mindedness, and  appellation  of  "Fool"  always  justly  clung  to 
him,  for,  bright  as  he  seemed  to  be  upon  many  things,  lie  was 
incapable  of  applying  his  knowledge  to  his  own  advantage. 
George  Howe  kept  abreast  with  the  doings  of  the  times,  especiallv 
in  the  political  and  religious  world,  and  these  two  subjects  he  was 


62  GEORGE  HOWE. 

always  readv  to  discuss.  Was  there  a  public  meeting  called,  relig- 
ious, political  or  otherwise,  George  HoAve  would  be  there,  often 
in  some  conspicuous  place,  with  wide-open  mouth  and  staring 
eves,  drinking  in  all  that  was  said  or  done. 

It  mattered  not  how  many  were  held  in  a  single  day  or  night, 
George  Howe  would  spend  sufficient  time  at  all  of  them  to  tell 
something  of  what  took  place.  For,  with  a  jewsharp  as  his  sole 
companion,  George  could  cover  more  ground  in  a  single  day  or 
night  than  any  other  inhabitant  of  Wilmington,  keeping  time  to 
its  discordant  twanks.  During  political  campaigns,  before  the 
press  of  the  city  could  announce  to  its  readers  the  result  of  the 
contest,  George  Howe  could  be  heard  howling  the  news  through1 
the  streets  of  Wilmington.  "Oh-o-o,  look  er  here,  every  bod-e-e-e! 
New  York,  New  Jerseee,  Dilewar  hev  gone  Dimocratic  by 
big  majoritees.  Great  Dimocratic  gains  throughout  ther  coun- 
try." When,  in  1884,  the  Democratic  party  astonished  the  coun- 
try and  itself  by  electing  Grover  Cleveland  to  the  Presidency  by 
a  safe  majority,  it  was  George  Howe  who  led  that  host  of  elated 
Democrats  down  Front  street  and  toward  the  Custom  House  on 
the  evening  of  election  day  to  inform  Republican  officeholders  that 
at  length  their  time  had  come  to  give  place  for  others.  Being  gen- 
erally shunned  by  those  of  his  own  race,  George  Howe  cherished 
quite  a  liking  for  colored  people,  and  could  be  very  frequently 
found  among  them  in  their  religious  meetings.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  Negroes'  mode  of  worship  that  seemed  to  fascinate 
him,  especially  the  saints  of  color  who  worshipped  in  old  Ebenezer 
Church,  in  South  Seventh  street.  When  that  most  eloquent  of 
pulpit  orators,  the  Rev.  William  H.  Banks,  led  his  hosts  to  Cape 
Fear  River's  brink,  and  drew  three-fourths  of  the  worshippers  of 
other  denominations  with  them,  George  Howe  would  be  there, 
yea,  marching  with  the  converts  themselves,  joining  as  lustily  as 
they  in  the  singing  of  that  familiar  old  marching  song: 

"I'm  er  goin'  up  ter  join  in  the  army  of  the  Lord, 
I'm  er  goin'  up  ter  join  in  the  army." 

Upon  the  river's  bank  he'd  stand  and  drink  in  every  word  that 
flowed  from  the  mouth  of  that  great  divine.    No  Negro  woman  or 


GEORGE  HOWE.  63 

man  could  lisp  the  name  of  "Brother  Banks"  with  sweeter  accent 
than  George  Howe,  and  no  one  could  sing  his  praises  more  ear- 
nestly. Who  can  forget  those  early  days  of  revivals  and  religious 
enthusiasm  in  Wilmington,  and  the  three  great  divines  who  filled 
the  three  great  pulpits  from  which  the  bread  of  life  was  given  to 
hungry  multitudes.  There  was  Lavender  in  "Christian  Chapel," 
Slubie  in  St.  Stephen,  and,  more  powerful  and  influential  than 
either  of  these,  was  William  H.  Banks,  the  pastor  of  Ebenezer 
Baptist  Church.  Even  years  after  Slubie  and  Lavender  had  been 
called  to  other  fields,  it  was  George  Howe's  delight  to  stand  upon 
the  street  corner  opposite  the  residence  of  the  Rev.  Banks  and 
sing  the  parody  to  that  famous  old  song  that  electrified  and  filled 
with  the  spirit  the  revival  meetings  of  the  early  seventies: 

"Brother  Lavender's  got  some  liars, 
Brother  Slubie's  got  some,  too; 
Jus'  carry  'em  down  to  Cape  Fear  River, 
An'  Banks'll  put  'em  through." 
Chorus:  "Git  on  board,  children,"  etc. 

These  great  men  are  gone  into  the  spirit  world,  but  George 
Howe  still  lives.  Banks  was  the  last  to  go,  and  when  that  coffined 
clay  was  being  borne  from  old  Ebenezer.  where  for  sixteen  years 
he  had  labored,  George  Howe  was  one  of  that  multitude  of  bleed- 
ing hearts  who  followed  his  precious  bones  to  the  burying  ground. 
He  stood  and  looked  on  until  the  last  spadeful  of  earth  was  thrown 
upon  the  coffin  and  the  mound  shaped  above  it.  After  the  death 
of  the  Rev.  Banks  George  Howe  became  very  much  attached  to 
his  eldest  daughter,  Mary  Elizabeth,  and  he  could  often  be  seen 
leisurely  strolling  down  Seventh  street  in  the  direction  of  Banks' 
residence,  playing  his  jewsharp  and  singing  the  praises  of  ''Sister 
Mary  Lizzie"  between  the  twanks. 

"I'm  er  goin'  down  to  Sister  Mary  Lizzie  Banksies; 
Sister  Mary  Lizzie  is  the  daughter  of  Brother  Banks, 
An'  I  think  er  great'  eal  of  Sister  Mary  Lizzie ; 
Sister  Lizzie,  I've  got  ter  tell  you-u-u." 

Pausing  in  front  of  the  door,  he  would  roll  up  his  sleeves, 
stretch  his  mouth,  roll  his  eves  and  make  all  kinds  of  comical  ex- 


64  GEORGE  HOWE. 

pressions.  "Sister  Mary  Lizzie,  I'm  jus'  out  er  jail-1-1,  I'm  full  er 
lice-e-e;  but  jus'  as  soon  as  I  take  er  bath  I'm  comin'  back  to  see 
you-u-u,  for  I  have  news-s-s-s  to  tell  you-u-u."  The  young-  lady 
would  often  have  to  run  in  and  lock  her  doors  when  she'd  see  this 
harmless  nuisance  approaching. 

George  Howe  was  one  of  the  few  that  listened  to  the  Colonel 
and  Teck  Pervis  in  the  Wigwam  on  this  particular  night  in  Octo- 
ber. Even  when  the  ghastly  plans  of  the  murderous  clan  were 
being  discussed,  no  one  thought  of  excluding  the  town  fool,  who 
stood  gaping  around  taking  it  all  in.  Schults,  the  German,  was 
arranging  things  in  and  about  his  well-filled  and  well-patronized 
grocery  store  on  Castle  street  on  the  following  morning,  when 
George  Howe  entered.  Grabbing  a  handful  of  dried  apples  from  a 
tray  which  sat  upon  the  counter,  he  stuffed  them  into  his  month, 
threw  his  long  legs  across  a  flour  barrel  and  momentarily  watched 
the  German  as  he  busied  himself  about  the  store.  "You  didn't  git 
out  las'  night,  Schults,"  said  he  to  the  German,  gulping  the  apples 
down  to  clear  his  throat  for  conversation. 

"Oudt!  oudt  weer?"  asked  Schults,  pausing  with  a  tray  of  on- 
ions in  his  hands.  "To  the  mcetin'  in  the  Wigwam,"  answered 
George.  They  done  er  powerful  lot  er  plannin'  there  las'  night. 
The  Dimocrats  mean  business  this  time.  They  say  they'll  carry 
the  election  this  time  or  kill  every  Nigger  in  the  district.  An' 
white  men  who  are  lukewarm,  who  don't  come  out  an'  take  er 
stan'  with  white  men  will  share  Niggers'  fate.  They  got  the 
names  of  the  lukewarm  in  this  affair.  I  don't  want  ter  skeer  you, 
Schults,  but  you  are  on  the  black  list."  Schults  had  laid  down  the 
tray  of  onions  and  was  eyeing  George  from  behind  the  showcase. 
"What  did  you  say  boudt  black  lisdt,  Gheorge?"  "I  say  they  read 
your  name  on  the  black  list  last  night,  an'  that  means  they  are 
goin'  ter  kill  yer,  for  their  air  determin'  ter  kill  everything  in  the 
way  of  white  supremacy.  I  don't  want  ter  skeer  you,  Schults;  I 
jes'  wan'  ter  warn  you.  You  hain't  tended  eny  of  their  meetings, 
and  they  conclude  you  air  agin  them.  An'  then  you  wouldn't 
discharge  your  Nigger."  Schults'  eyes  flashed,  lie  locked  his 
hands  and  brought  them  down  upon  the  show  case  hard  enough 


GEORGE  HOWE.  65 

to  break  it.  "What  I  keers  fer  der  black  lisdt.  eh?  1  dondt  keers 
whadt  dey  duse  mid  Schults.  Before  I  vould  hep  dem  ter  harm 
dese  kullod  peeples  py  dams  I  suffers  ter  be  kilt.  Who  ish  mine 
frients?  Who  buys  mine  groceries?  Kullud  peeples.  When 
Schults  cum  ster  Wilmiton  sick  mit  der  rhumatiz,  mit  no  moneys, 
mit  no  frients,  who  helbs  Schults  ter  git  on  his  feets?  Dese  rich 
bocra?  No;  dey  kicks  Schults  off  de  sidewalks,  cowhide  Schults 
on  der  sthreets.  Who  helbs  Schults  den?  Kullud  peeples!  An' 
befoe  I  rais'  mine  hand  'gin  dem  I  suffer  det.  Let  dem  kum,  kum 
an'  git  Schults  when  dey  chuse.  Don't  let  dem  t'ink  fur  er  mo- 
ment I  no  prepare  fer  dem.  Dem  Ghermans  who  'lows  dem  down 
bhroke  ristocrats  persuade  dem  gintz  deir  kullud  frients  who 
thrade  mit  dem  an'  keeps  dem  from  starvin'  when  dese  rich  bocra 
thry  ter  dhrive  dem  frum  des  country  deserbe  de  cuss  ov  Almighty 
Got!  An'  you  damn  po  bocras  dat  allows  yo'uselts  ter  be  make 
fools  mit  you'selfs  fer  broke  down  risterchrats  ter  dhrive  kullud 
peeples  frum  dey  homes  deserfs  efry  one  eff  you'  ter  be  kilt." 
George  Howe's  under  jaw  dropped.  He  stared  at  Schults  in  as- 
tonishment, for  he  did  not  expect  to  witness  such  a  show  of  bra- 
very on  the  part  of  this  quiet  German  grocer.  "I  didn't  mean  to 
insult  you,  Schults,'  'said  he,  reaching  over  and  helping  himself 
from  a  barrel  of  apples  which  stood  close  by.  "I  jes  thought  I'd 
warn  you."  "Now,  dere's  dat  Gheorge  Bohn,''  continued  Schults, 
with  apparent  inattention  to  what  George  had  said.  "I  see  his 
nhame  in  der  bapers  as  one  uv  der  leaders  in  dis  supremacy  hum- 
bug. Who  makes  Bohn  whadt  he  is  on  Dry  Pon'?  Who  makes 
Gheorge  Bohn  whad  he  is  in  dis  counthry?  Dem  very  peeples 
who  he  is  now  thrin'  ter  kill.  Dem  broke  down  risiercrats,  sich 
as  Moss  an'  odders,  cares  no  more  fer  sich  as  him  den  dey  do  fur 
de  grass  neat  der  feets.  When  dey  gits  dcmselfs  in  office  dem 
Dutchmen  kin  go,  po  bocras  kin  go,  dey  cares  noddings  fur  yo 
when  dey  wus  rich.  Now  dey  air  po  as  Job's  turkey,  dey  wants 
us  Dutchmans  an  po  bocras  to  dhrive  oud  our  meat  an'  bread  so 
dey  kin  demselfs  git  fat  at  de  public  crib.  But  I  tells  you  dis: 
Schults  will  haft  nodding  to  do  mit  dem.  I  stays  in  mine  house, 
mine  house  is  mine  castle,  and  ef  dey  wants  me  let  dem  cum  to 


06  GEORGE  HOWE. 

mine  house,  by  dams  I  fills  dem  full  uv  lead;  yo  kin  put  dat  in  yo 
pipe  and  shmoke  id."  George  Howe  arose,  yawned,  then  slowly 
walked  to  the  door,  turned,  dropped  his  under  jaw  and  stared 
again  at  Schults,  who  had  resumed  his  work  about  the  store. 
"Didn't  mean  ter  hurt  yer  feelings,  Schults,  but  ter  put  yer  on  yer 
giard,  that  unless  you  jine  em  dey  air  goin'  ter  do>  yo."  George 
stepped  out  upon  the  walk,  drew  forth  his  jewsharp  and  sauntered 
up  the  street,  twanking  upon  it  as  he  went. 

The  German  to  the  Southern  Negro  has  been  and  is  what  the 
Jew  is  to  the  Russian  peasant — the  storekeeper,  the  barterer.  The 
German  citizen  has  never  been  a  manufacturer  or  a  farmer;  he  is 
in  no  business  that  gives  extensive  employment  to  wage  earners. 
But,  as  a  corner  grocer,  he  lays  for  the  Negro  as  he  goes  to  and 
from  his  toil,  and,  with  cheap  wares  and  bad  whisky,  he  grows  fat 
upon  his  unwary  customer.  The  German  usually  comes  to  this 
country  poor,  enters  small  towns,  and,  by  the  aid  of  other  older 
residents  of  his  nation  who  have  already  grown  prosperous,  he 
goes  into  business  on  a  small  scale — grocery  business  as  a  rule. 
He  begins  in  a  one-story  structure,  one-half  devoted  to  business, 
while  in  the  other  he  lives.  These  little  stores  were  never  without 
their  indispensable  liquor  departments,  where  the  trader  was  in- 
vited to  refresh  himself  after  paying  his  weekly  grocery  bill. 

Before  the  war  the  South's  best  people  had  no  use  for  the  Ger- 
man emigrant,  and  did  everything  in  their  power  to  discourage 
his  living  among  them.  If  the  slave  returned  home  to  his  master 
under  the  influence  of  liquor,  the  master  in  many  instances  went 
and  cowhided  the  seller.  The  flogging  of  the  Negro  did  not  keep 
him  from  returning  to  the  German  to  trade,  and  the  German  pros- 
pered, and  to-day  is  among  the  foremost  property  owners  in  the 
South.  I  do  not  exaggerate  when  I  say  that  the  German's  wealth 
has  come  to  him  solely  through  Negro  patronage;  not  even  to-day 
does  the  people  known  as  the  best  people  trade  with  Germans. 

The  Bohns — Joseph,  Charles,  George  and  William — coming 
into  Wilmington  in  the  seventies,  had  lived  principally  and  con- 
ducted business  in  that  section  of  the  old  city  known  as  Dry  Pond, 
and,  like  the  most  of  their  kind,  have  accumulated  their  wealth 


GEORGE   HOWE.  67 

from  the  patronage  of  the  colored  people,  among  whom  they  had 
ever  lived.  This  makes  the  crime  of  George  Bohn  appear  the 
more  atrocious  and  cowardly.  George  joined  the  White  Suprem- 
acy League  during  the  uprising  in  Wilmington,  and  was  one  of 
its  most  active  members.  There  was  a  certain  colored  citizen 
who  knew  of  Bohn's  secret  relations  to  the  movement  which  dis- 
graced the  city.  This  man  gave  the  information  to  the  people  of 
his  race  who  were  patronizing  Bohn,  and  entreated  them  not  to 
support  such  an  ingrate.  When  the  excitement  was  at  its  height, 
when  Red  Shirts  and  Rough  Riders  were  terrorizing  the  city,  a 
band  of  poor  whites,  headed  by  George  Bohn,  sought  this  colored 
man's  residence,  battered  down  the  door,  fired  several  bullets  into 
the  bed  where  the  man  and  his  wife  lay,  the  latter  in  a  precarious 
condition.  The  house  was  riddled  with  shots;  they  were  compelled 
to  get  out  and  leave  their  own  home,  to  which  they  have  not  as 
yet  been  permitted  to  return.  Bohn,  after  the  deed  was  done, 
sneaked  back  to  his  home,  and  when  the  horrible  crime  was  re- 
ported, tried  to  prove  an  alibi.  But  George  Bohn  is  the  guilty 
man,  and  George  Bohn  shall  not  escape!  The  hand  of  Justice- 
shall  point  him  o-ut.  His  name  shall  go  down  to  posterity  on  the 
list  of  cowards  who,  on  the  10th  of  November,  1898,  brought  into 
disrepute  the  fair  name  of  one  of  the  best  little  cities  on  the  Ameri- 
can continent. 


JUDAS   ISCARIOT, 


CHAPTER    IX. 

Judas    Iscariot. 

When  the  Executive  Committee,  in  response  to  Mr.  Wingate's 
call,  met  in  his  office  the  following  evening,  the  Governor's  letter 
was  read  to  them,  and  Molly  Pierrepont's  story  repeated.  Plans 
of  action  were  mapped  out,  but  not  without  some  bitter  attacks 
upon  the  enemy.  Mr.  Wingate's  proposal  to  surrender  for  the 
sake  of  averting  bloodshed,  if  possible,  however,  prevailed.  The 
bitter  language  and  threats  made  by  hotheads  would,  if  they 
reached  the  ears  of  whites,  only  add  fuel  to  the  fire  already  burn- 
ing; so  the  members  were  cautioned  by  the  chairman  to  give  to 
the  enemy  no  opportunity.  But  even  among  the  twelve  chosen  of 
God  there  was  a  traitor,  and  since  that  memorable  time  nearly 
every  band  of  brothers  has  had  its  Judas  ready  at  any  time  of  trou- 
ble to  sacrifice  others  to  save  himself,  or  betray  them  for  reward. 
Was  there  a  Judas  on  the  Republican  Executive  Committee  of 
New  Hanover  county?    Yes! 

In  the  days  of  slavery  there  existed  in  the  South  a  kind  of  Negro 
known  as  the  "Good  Nigger"  or  "White  folks  Nigger,"  who  was  a 
stubborn  believer  in  his  own  inferiority  and  the  righteousness  of 
his  enslavement.  He  sneaked  around,  grinned  his  way  into  the 
confidence  of  other  slaves,  then  stole  away  and  told  their  secrets. 
Were  there  any  plots  being  concocted  to  rise  up  and  strike  a  blow 
for  liberty,  the  good  nigger  would  inevitably  be  there  to  join  in 
the  shaping  of  plans,  only  to  go  out  and  hang  his  fellow-conspira- 
tors. 

The  San  Domingons  in  their  struggle  for  liberty  found  this 
good  nigger  a  most  formidable  barrier,  and  those  who  are  familiar 


JUDAS   ISCARIOT.  09 

with  the  history  of  that  bloody  struggle  know  just  how  heart- 
sickening  was  the  taking  off  of  this  creature  wherever  found.  In 
many  instances  they  cut  off  his  toes,  his  fingers,  his  ears,  his  nose, 
stuffed  pieces  of  these  extremities  into  his  mouth,  and  left  him  to 
die  a  slow  death.  The  emancipation  and  the  consequent  opportu- 
nities for  intellectual  advancement  have  not  changed  this  good 
nigger,  for  in  numerous  instances  you  will  find  him  well  educated, 
and  often  swaying  quite  an  influence  in  a  community.  But  he  is 
generally  an  ignorant,  shiftless  fellow,  forever  lamenting  about 
his  freedom,  flaying  the  Yankees  for  taking  him- away  from  his 
master,  who  took  care  of  him.  He  still  likes  to  sit  around  on  the 
back  steps  of  the  whites'  residences  to  talk  about  good  old  days 
when  he  was  free  from  the  responsibility  of  "keerin'  fer  mase'f." 
Or,  in  higher  walks  of  life,  from  pulpit  and  public  rostrum,  he's 
bewailing  the  shortcomings  of  his  own  people  and  magnifying 
the  virtues  of  the  whites.  He  stands  among  the  ashes  of  the  vic- 
tims of  a  mob's  fury  to  abuse  the  Negro  for  having  been  killed, 
and  to  praise  the  whites  for  the  crime. 

George  R.  Shaw,  a  prominent  negro,  writes  a  card  to  the  public, 
in  which  he  says: 

"One  reason  why  such  crimes  are  committed  by  negroes  is  that 
there  is  no  discipline  over  negro  children.  From  ten  years  up  they 
are  allowed  to  loaf  about  from  place  to  place  and  with  all  kinds  of 
characters.  They  have  no  moral  restraints.  Book  learning  in 
colleges  dooms  the  negro  to  be  fit  for  nothing.  They  think  they 
cannot  do  manual  labor.  What  my  people  need  is  an  industrial, 
moral,  common  school  training.  Lynching  does  no  good,  and 
makes  bad  worse.  The  brute  who  will  commit  these  crimes  never 
sees  a  newspaper.  Sam  Hose  and  all  such  should  die,  but  not  at 
the  hands  of  a  mob.  The  negro  must  be  taught  to  abhor  crime 
from  principle,  not  through  fear.  Let  critics  take  this  Sam  Hose 
case  home  to  themselves.  If  the  same  crime  was  to  happen  in  my 
immediate  vicinity  most  any  of  us  would  do  very  nearly  like  those 
Georgians  did.  If  we  did  not  lynch  him  we  would  hold  the  cloth- 
ing of  those  that  were  doing  the  lynching." 

Shortly  after  the  burning  of  Sam  Hose  in  Georgia,  a  good  nig- 


70  ]UDAS   ISCARIOT. 

ger,  signing  his  name  as  Shaw  sent  to  a  certain  Southern  paper 
an  article  commending  the  action  of  the  mob,  and  expressing  a 
willingness  to  have  held  their  coats  while  the  dastardly  act  was 
performed.  Did  this  man  know  that  Sam  Hose  committed  the 
crime  for  which  he  suffered  such  a  horrible  death?  Can  men  ca- 
pable of  committing  such  deeds  as  the  burning  and  mutilating  the 
body  of  this  wretch  be  relied  upon  for  truth?  If  Cranford  was  one 
of  that  mob  of  cowards  who  shot  to  death  those  manacled  men  at 
PaJmetto,  the  knocking  out  of  his  brains  would  have  made  a  man 
of  another  race  a  hero. 

Calvin  Sauls,  who  had  heretofore  been  a  kind  of  an  independent, 
having  at  various  times  voted  with  Democrats,  Populists,  Green- 
backers  and  Republicans,  had  shown  a  disposition  to  be  earnestly 
interested  in  Republican  success  in  the  campaign  of  1898.  Run- 
ning here  and  there,  attending  primaries  and  committee  meetings, 
full  of  information  as  to  the  movements  of  the  enemy,  he  had 
worked  his  way  into  the  confidence  of  these  unwary  colored  poli- 
ticians, who  considered  him  an  earnest  worker  for  the  cause  of  Re- 
publicanism, so  much  so  that  he  had  been  admitted  into  the  head- 
quarters of  the  Executive  Committee  on  that  evening.  "And  Ju- 
das, having  received  the  sop,  went  immediately  out,  and  it  was 
night."  No  one  noticed  Calvin  Sauls  on  that  night,  as  he,  taking 
the  advantage  of  a  moment  of  exciting  debate,  slipped  out  into 
the  darkness,  and  made  his  way  into  the  Democratic  headquarters. 
At  the  corner  of  Fourth  and  Chestnut  streets  a  dark  figure  stepped 
out  from  the  darkness  and  confronted  him.  "Hello  dar,  Calvin 
Sauls!"  said  a  gruff  voice.  "Where  is  you  sneakin' ter?  You  got 
er  few  uv  us  fool,  but  not  all.  Coin'  down  ter  tell  wa't  you  foun'  out 
at  de  committee  meet'n,  eh?"  O,  g'wan  way  f'm  me,  man;  I  got 
dese  white  fo'ks  bizness  ter  ten'  ter."  The  man  seized  Sauls  and 
held  on  to  him.  "Look  er  here,  some  women  waited  at  de  corner 
of  Red  Cross  an'  Fourth  street  to  beat  yo'  las'  night."  "Wa'  fer?" 
asked  Sauls,  trying  to  free  himself  from  the  man's  grasp.  "Fur 
trying  ter  suade  dey  dauters  down  ter  dat  Fayette  Club  for  dem 
white  mens."  It's  er  no  sich  ting!"  "You  lie,  you  louse!"  ex- 
claimed the  man,  loosening  his  hold,  and  shoving  Sauls  nearly  off 


JUDAS   ISCARIOT.  71 

the  sidewalk.    Sauls,  recovering,  staggered  on  his  way. 

Ben  Hartright  leaned  against  a  post  on  the  veranda  of  the  Dem- 
ocratic Club's  meeting  place  when  Calvin  Sauls  came  up.  "Why 
hello,  Calvin,  is  that  you?"  "Yes,  sah,  Marse  Ben,"  returned  the 
Negro.  "I  comin'  ter  make  ma  report."  Ben  Hartright  inter- 
cepted Sauls  as  he  placed  his  foot  upon  the  door  sill  and  drew 
him  aside.  "Say,  Calvin,  I  saw  you  talking  to  a  rather  striking 
looking  colored  girl  the  other  day;  who  is  she?  Can't  you  fix  it  so 
I  can  get  an  interview?"  "Uh,  uh,"  said  Sauls,  shaking  his  head. 
"Dat's  Bob  Sims'  gal;  she  jes  from  college,  an'  she's  all  right  now, 
I  tell  yer.  You  know  dem  Simses  is  top  er  de  pot  Niggers." 
"That's  the  kind  I  always  play  for,  Calvin;  you  know  me,"  an- 
swered Ben.  "Gentlemen  must  always  have  the  best,  ding  it  all! 
I  though  you  were  sufficiently  well  bred  to  know  that  the  best  of 
everything  in  this  world  is  for  white  people."  "Dat's  so,"  said 
Sauls,  "but  yo  member  dat  time  Bob  Sims  cum  nie  beat'n  dat 
white  man  head  off  bout  insult'n  dat  tudder  gal  er  his.  I  feared 
mon."  "That's  all  right,  Calvin;  I'll  stand  by  you.  Molly's  gone 
back  on  me  now;  I'm  afraid  she's  converted  and  joined  the  sancti- 
fied band.  By  thunder,  she  defied  me  the  other  night."  "Yes, 
sah,  an'  she's  in  yernes',  too;  she's  on  de  warpath  fur  true.  I  got 
er  heap  ter  report  ter  night,  so  I  see  you  later  on  dat  udder  mat- 
ter." And  Sauls  pushed  past  Hartright  and  made  his  way  into  the 
dub  room. 


UNCLR   GUY. 


CHAPTER    X. 

Uncle  Guy. 

On  looking  over  the  list  of  Wilmingtons'  personages  who  have 
been  instrumental  in  moulding  its  character  and  making  it  one 
of  the  most  desirable  places  on  earth,  and  the  memory  of  whose 
face  and  name  revive  the  sweetest  recollections  of  early  youth  in 
the  dear  old  town,  the  name  and  face  of  Uncle  Guy  comes  most 
vividly  before  me. 

In  ante-bellum  days  in  the  South,  one  week  in  all  the  year  was 
given  by  the  master  to  the  slave — a  week  of  absolute  freedom,  in 
which  the  Negro,  unrestrained,  danced  and  frolicked  and  other- 
wise amused  himself  to  his  heart's  content.  This  season  of  free- 
dom commenced  with  the  dawn  of  Christmas,  and  lasted  until  the 
beginning  of  the  New  Year.  The  slave  heard  not  the  story  of  the 
Christ,  of  the  wise  men,  or  the  shepherds  of  Bethlehem;  he  saw 
no  Christmas  tree  brilliant  with  tapers  even  in  the  home  of  his 
master.  For,  unlike  Christmas  observances  in  the  North,  full  of 
solemnity  and  historic  significance,  the  Southern  Christmas  was 
and  is  still  a  kind  of  March  Gras  festival,  ending  with  the  dawn  of 
the  New  Year.  Early  on  each  Christmas  morning  the  slaves,  old 
and  young,  little  and  big,  gathered  at  the  door  of  the  "Big  House" 
to  greet  their  master,  who  gave  each  in  turn  his  Christmas  "dram," 
and  then,  like  a  kennel  is  opened  and  pent-up  hounds  are  bidden 
to  scamper  away,  the  slaves  were  let  go  to  enjoy  themselves  to 
their  heart's  content,  and  were  summoned  no  more  to  the  field  be- 
fore the  dawn  of  the  New  Year.  While  in  the  rural  districts  the 
frolics  and  kindred  pleasures  were  the  chief  pastimes,  in  the  cities 
and  towns  the  celebrations  were  more  elaborate.    In  gaudy  rega- 


UNCLE  GUV.  13 

lia  the  ''Hog  Eye"  danced  for  the  general  amusement,  and  the 
Cooner  in  his  rags  "showed  his  motions."  For  many  years  before 
the  war  Uncle  Guy  was  the  star  performer  at  these  functions  in 
Wilmington.  With  whip  in  hand,  he  danced  and  pranced,  and  in 
sport  flogged  children  who  had  been  naughty  during  the  year. 
But  to  us,  who  were  youngsters  in  the  seventies,  Uncle  Guy  is 
most  vividly  remembered  as  a  musician — a  clarionet  soloist — a 
member  of  the  Shoo  Fly  Band,  whose  martial  music  will  ever 
ring  in  the  ear  of  memory. 

The  fall  of  Fort  Fisher  added  many  a  new  face  and  character  to 
Wilmington  life.  Negroes  who  had  in  the  conflict  just  closed 
learned  of  the  art  of  war,  added  impetus  to  and  stimulated  the  old 
city's  martial  spirit  and  love  of  gaudy  display.  And  those  who 
through  the  same  agency  had  learned  in  the  military  bands  and 
drum  corps  the  art  of  music  were  indispensable  adjuvants  in  ele- 
vating her  lowly  inhabitants.  But  he  who  came  with  the  knowl- 
edge of  music  had  a  much  wider  field  for  usefulness  before  him; 
for  the  Negroes'  love  for  music  is  stronger  than  love  for  war. 
Frank  Johnson,  who  had  the  credit  of  organizing  the  Shoo  Flv 
Band,  had  not  tasted  of  war,  but  he  and  Uncle  Guy  had  been  "or- 
chestra" musicians  before  the  war.  And  now,  as  the  increase  of 
talent  in  Wilmington  opened  a  wider  field,  the  band  was  organ- 
ized. It  was  called  Frank  Johnson's  Band  at  first,  but  in  after 
years  more  familiarly  known  as  the  "Shoo  Fly."  The  name  is  a 
small  matter,  however;  music  was  the  chief  thing.  And  how  that 
band  could  play  it!  There  was  a  ring  in  that  music  that  electri- 
fied the  soul  and  filled  the  limbs  with  renewed  vigor. 

There  was  Dick  Stove  with  his  trombone, 

Henry  Anderson  with  his  bass, 

Making  music  swift  as  raindrops  in  a  race. 

There  was  Guy  Wright  with  his  clarionet, 

Henry  Adams  with  his  B, 

And  the  music  made  the  youngsters  dance  with  glee. 

There  was  Johnson,  he  play'd  second, 

Who,  when  horn-blowing  was  doll, 

Could  play  a  fiddle  tempting  to  the  soul. 


74  UNCLE  GUY. 

At  Hilton,  Paddy's  Hollow,  at  the  Oaks,  on  Kidder's  Hill, 

Where  good  and  bad  alike  could  dance  their  fill. 

Then  there  was  Jim,  the  drummer, 

Who  could  beat  a  drum  like  Jim? 

Oh !  we  little  ones  were  awful  proud  of  him. 

How  nicely  he  could  keep  the  time. 

"Shoo  Fly,  don't  bother  me!" 

For  I'm  a  member  of  old  Comp'ny  D. 

It  was  down  old  Seventh  to  Market, 

And  through  Market  down  to  Third. 

Playin'  Molly  Darlin',  sweetes'  ever  heard ; 

From  thence  up  Third  to  Castle,  while  "Up  in  a  Balloon" 

Made  us  wish  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  moon. 

Then  we  had  no  Gen'l  Jacksons 

Dressed  in  gol"  lace  all  for  show, 

Then  such  hifullutin  notions  didn't  go. 

It  was  music!  Sweetes'  music! 

"Darlin',  I  am  growin'  old," 

Will  live,  forever  live  within  the  soul. 

The  old  Shoo  Fly  Band  is  a  thing  of  the  past ;  no  more  shall  we 
listen  to  its  inspiring  music,  for  the  majority  of  its  members  have 
crossed  the  melancholy  flood.  The  last  time  that  they  appeared 
on  the  streets  of  Wilmington  only  a  sextet  remained.  Dick 
Stove's  trombone  horn  had  been  curtailed  in  order  to  hide  the 
marks  of  decay  upon  its  bell.  They  gallantly  marched  up  Market 
street,  and  with  a  dismal,  yet  not  discordant  blast,  turned  into 
Fourth,  en  route  to  Hilton.  I  think  that  Uncle  Guy  is  the  only 
remaining  one  of  that  gallant  few  living  in  Wilmington  to-day, 
and  the  friends  of  those  who  departed  this  life  in  later  years  fol- 
lowed their  bodies  to  the  grave  keeping  step  to  the  sad  wail  of  his 
lone  clarionet.  Jim  Richardson,  Dick  Stove,  Johnson,  Adams, 
Anderson — I  wonder,  does  he  think  of  them  now,  tenderly,  emo- 
tionally and  with  a  longing  to  join  them  on  the  other  side.  I 
wonder  if  they  all  cluster  about  him  when  in  his  lonely  hours  he 
consoles  himself  with  his  clarionet.  For  many  years  Uncle  Guy 
has  been  Wilmington's  chief  musician.  Bands  magnificent  in 
equipment  and  rich  in  talent  have  been  organized,  to  flourish  for 
a  few  years  only.    But  Uncle  Guy's  trio  of  clarionet  and  drums  has 


UNCLE  GUY.  75 

withstood  the  test  of  time;  yea,  they  were  indispensable  for  base 
ball  advertisement  and  kindred  amusements,  heading  both  civic 
and  military  processions,  white  and  black,  in  their  outings  and 
celebrations,  or  with  bowed  head  and  thoughtful  countenance  he 
has  led  the  march  to  the  grave.    As  I  recollect  Uncle  Guy,  he  was 
the  embodiment  of  neatness,  feminine  in  build — it  seemed  that 
nature  intended  to  form  a  woman  instead  of  a  man.    Like  a  wom- 
an, he  plaited  his  hair  and  drew  it  down  behind  his  ears.     His 
hands  and  feet  were  small,  his  fingers  tapering;  his  face  was  black, 
his  eyes  small,  his  lips  and  nose  thin,  his  voice  fine,  but  harsh,  and 
he  slightly  stooped  or  bent  forward  as  he  walked.    There  is  poetry 
in  even'  move  of  his  bent  figure  as  he  slowly  walks  down  the 
street  on  this  autumn  morning.    As  we  gaze  upon  him  strolling 
feebly  along,  we  involuntarily  sigh  for  the  days  when  the  heart 
was  young.    May  Day,  with  its  buds  and  blossoms,  Christmastide, 
full  of  bright  anticipations,  come  trooping  up  the  misty  way.    We 
are  following  the  old  band;  listen  to  the  music!    How  enchanting! 
"Up  in  a  balloon,  boys,  up  in  a  balloon, 
Where  the  little  stars  are  sailing  round  the  moon; 
Up  in  a  balloon,  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  moon, 
All  among  the  little  stars  sailing  round  the  moon." 
We  are  making  water-mills  in  the  brooks;  we  are  swinging  our 
sweethearts;  we  feel  again  the  heart  throbs  of  early  youth  when  we' 
dared  the  first  caress. 

"Shoo  fly,  don't  bother  me! 
For  I  belong  to  Company  D." 


It  is  Monday  morning — the  washwoman's  day  of  preparation; 
when  the  clothes  are  brought  in,  the  shopping  attended  to;  when 
the  women  congregate  on  the  street  corners,  sit  upon  their  bas- 
kets and  bundles  or  lean  against  the  fences  to  discuss  the  doings 
of  the  Sunday  just  past — what  the  preacher  said  and  what  the 
neighbors  wore,  etc.  Three  women  stood  upon  the  corner  toward 
which  Uncle  Guy  was  tending.  But  they  were  not  talking  about 
texts  and  fashions.  Uncle  Guy  heard  the  following  as  he  drew 
nisrh:  "Bu'n  um!    Bu'n  ran!    Good  fer  nuthin'  broke  down  rister- 


76  UNCLE   GUY. 

crats  an'  po'  white  trash.  Ef  de  men  kayn't  git  gun  we  kin  git 
karsene  an'  match  an'  we'll  hab  um  wahkin'  de  street  in  dere  nite 
gown."  Judge  Morse  passed  by,  turned  his  head  to  catch  as  much 
as  possible  of  what  was  being  spoken.  "Negro  like,"  he  said,  as  he 
went  on  his  way.  "They  are  all  talk.  I  was  raised  among  them, 
heard  them  talk  before,  but  it  amounted  to  nothing.  I'm  against 
any  scheme  to  do  them  harm,  for  there's  no  harm  in  them.  This 
Negro  domination  talk  is  all  bosh." 

Uncle  Guy  stepped  to  one  side  and  humbly  saluted  Judge  Morse 
as  he  passed,  then  bore  down  upon  the  women  who  were  vigor- 
ously discussing  the  all-absorbing  topic.  The  old  man  walked  out 
to  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk,  squinted  his  eyes  and  came  slowly  up 
to  where  the  women  stood,  comically  pointing  his  index  finger  at 
them:  "Look  yer,"  said  he,  "yuna  ta'k  too  much!"  raising  his 
voice.  "Yuna  mouts  g'wine  ter  git  yuna  inter  trouble;  hear  me? 
Did  yuna  see  Jedge  Morse  when  he  go  by?  Did  yuna  see  'im 
stop  ter  listen  at  you?  Le'  me  tell  yuna  sumthin'  right  good." 
The  old  man  shook  his  finger  several  seconds  before  proceeding. 
"Dese  white  fo'kes  is  onter  you,  dey  got  de  road  all  map  out. 
Dey  no  ebry  move  yuna  Nigger  makin'.  How  dey  no  it?  How 
dey  no  it,  I  say?"  Another  long  finger  shake.  "Yuna  Nigger 
uraan  tell  um,  yuna  runnin'  yuna  tongue  in  de  kitchen,  yuna  run- 
nin'  yer  tongue  in  de  street.  Now,  instid  ov  de  bocra  bein'  in  de 
street  in  dey  nite  gown,  yuna  gwine  ter  be  thar  wid  nuttin'  on. 
Don't  you  no  dat  we  ain't  bin  able  ter  by  er  gun  er  ounce  powder 
in  munts,  an'  de  bocra  got  cannon  an  ebry  ting.  See  how  he'pliss 
yer  is?  Now  yuna  go  home,  an'  quit  so  much  ta'k.  Keep  cool  fer 
dese  bocra  pisen."  Uncle  Guy  walked  slowly  on  and  the  women 
dispersed.  Those  who  read  the  newspaper  accounts  of  that  terrible 
massacre  know  full  well  just  how  true  was  the  prophecy  of  this 
old  citizen.  Doubtless  he  looks  back  over  it  now  as  a  catastrophe 
beyond  his  expectations  or  dreams. 


THE   MASSACRE. 


CHAPTER   XI. 


The  Massacre. 

The  five  days  prior  to  the  massacre  Wilmington  was  the  scene 
of  turmoil,  of  bickerings  between  the  factions  in  the  political 
struggle;  "Red  Shirts"  and  "Rough  Riders"  had  paraded,  and  for 
two  or  three  days  Captain  Keen  had  been  displaying  his  gatling 
gun,  testing  its  efficiency  as  a  deadly  weapon  before  the  Negroes. 

All  of  these  demonstrations  had  taken  place  to  convince  the 
Negro  that  to  try  to  exercise  his  right  as  an  elector  would  have  a 
disastrous  result.  Upon  the  conservative  and  peace-loving  these 
things  had  the  desired  effect.  But  the  bolder  ones  showed  a  rug- 
ged front,  and  on  election  day  hung  about  the  polls  and  insisted 
upon  exercising  their  rights  as  citizens,  and  many  clashings  were 
the  results.  But  the  major  portion  of  black  electors  stayed  at 
home  in  hope  that  the  bloodshed  which  hot-headed  Democrats 
had  been  clamoring  for  as  the  only  means  of  carrying  the  election 
might  be  averted.  When  the  sun  set  upon  the  little  city  on  the 
9th  of  November  there  seemed  to  be  a  rift  in  the  storm  cloud  that 
had  for  so  many  weeks  hung  over  it,  and  the  city  had  apparently 
resumed  its  wonted  quiet.  Far  out  on  Dry  Pond,  in  the  old 
"Wigwam"  a  gang  of  men  had  met,  who  ere  the  sun  should  set 
upon  another  day  would  make  Wilmington  the  scene  of  a  tragedy 
astonishing  to  the  State  and  to  the  nation.  They  had  gathered  to 
await  the  signal  to  begin;  they  had  good  rifles  and  a  plentiful  sup- 
ply of  ammunition,  and  their  tethered  steeds  standing  about  the 
old  "Wigwam"  were  pawing  and  neighing  for  the  fray.  The 
clock  in  the  old  Presbyterian  Church  on  Orange  street  dismally 
tolled  out  the  hour  of  three.    Teck  Pervis  arose,  yawned,  walked 


78  THE  MASSACRE. 

up  and  then  clown  the  floor  among  the  men  who  lay  asleep  with 
their  weapons  beside  them.  He  made  a  deep,  long,  loud  whistle ; 
the  men  began  to  arise  one  after  another,  and  soon  the  room  was 
in  a  bustle.  Some  were  washing  faces,  others  sipping  coffee  as  a 
forerunner  of  something  hotter  that  would  stimulate  and  give 
force  to  the  spirit  of  deviltry  that  the  work  of  the  day  required. 

"Gentermen/  said  Teck  Pervis,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
hall  and  holding  a  cup  of  coffee  in  his  hand.  "This  is  ther  day 
thet  ther  white  people  of  North  Ca'liny  is  going  ter  show  Mr. 
Nigger  who's  ter  rule  in  Wilmin'ton,  and  there's  ter  be  no  drawin' 
back  in  this  here  bizness."  Just  then  Dick  Sands  interrupted  the 
leader  by  jumping  out  into  the  floor.  He  shuffled,  he  danced, 
kissed  his  gun,  threw  it  into  the  air,  and  twirled  it  between  his  fin- 
gers like  a  born  drum  major.  "Gentermen!  hit's  ther  happies'  day 
I  seed  sence  way  foe  ther  war.  This  is  er  day  I  bin  er  longin'  fur 
and  prayin'  fur  eber  since  ther  ding  Yanks  cum  and  freed  Mr. 
Nigger  an'  sot  im  on  ekal  footin'  wid  er  white  man.  Laws  er 
massy  me'.  Gentermen,  I'se  seed  things  happen  in  this  here  town 
sence  Fo't  Fisher  fell  thet  wus  enuf  ter  make  eny  dec'nt  white  man 
go  inter  his  hole,  an'  pull  his  hole  after  'im.  Think  uv  it,  genter- 
men, think  uv  it!  Nigger  lawyers,  Nigger  doctors,  Nigger  store- 
keepers, Nigger  teachers,  Nigger  preachers,  Niggers  in  fine 
houses — why,  gentermen,  jedgmint  hain't  fur  off.  Who  was  in 
ther  Cote  House  thet  day  when  thet  Nigger  White  tole  Colonel 
Buck  he  did'n  no  law?  I  wus  thar,  an'  never  wanter  see  sich  ergin. 
Evrybody  jis'  opened  his  mouth  an'  stared  fus  at  ther  Nigger  an' 
then  at  Colonel  Buck.  I  felt  thet  ther  merlineum  wus  at  ban', 
jus'  waitin'  ter  see  ther  worl'  turn  ten  uppermos',  an'  go  ter  smash. 
Whoopalah!  but  we  air  goin'  ter  show  urn  sump'n  ter  day,  an'  1 
jes  wish  thet  Nigger  White  wus  in  Wilminton,  fur  these  big  Nig- 
gers'll  be  the  firs'  whose  cases  we'll  try.  Oh.  Mr.  Peaman,  Oh, 
Mr.  Bryant,  Mr.  Miller  and  all  you  uns  er  the  Afrikin  foe  hun- 
dered!  yo  time  is  cum!"  Dick  Sands  ended  his  harangue  by 
turning  a  somersault.  "I  jes  bet  Dick  Sands  owes  Tom  Miller 
now,"  said  a  young  chap  who  sat  leaning  against  the  wall  with 
his  legs  spread  out,  laughing  at  Dick's  Indian-like  antics.    "Yes," 


THE  MASSACRE.  79 

broke  in  another;  ''Tom's  he'ped  er  lot  er  we  po'  clevals;  he"s  lent 
out  thousans  er  dollars  in  all  ter  white  men.  Hits  er  shame  ter  do 
him!"  "Yes,  I  mus  admit  that  I  owe  Tom,  but  this  is  er  time  fur 
me  ter  jump  bail,"  said  Dick  Sands.  "I  don't  b'lieve  thet  er  Nig- 
ger should  hav  es  much  money  es  Tom's  got  no  way.  Hit's  ergin 
his  helth.  You  know  Xiggers  liv  longer  po'  then  they  do  when 
they  air  rich,  bekase  when  they're  po'  they  air  in  ther  natruls,  an 
air  easier  kept  in  their  places.  Hit's  these  foe  hundred  Niggers 
thet  er  raisin  all  ther  trouble."     .     .     . 

"Well,  les  git  ter  bizness,  gentermen,"  broke  in  Teck  Pervis. 
"There's  er  lot  befoe  us  ter  do;  Hell  is  ter  begin  at  ther  Cotton 
Press  under  Kurnel  Moss,  while  Cap'n  Keen'll  kinder  peramer- 
late  er  roun  in  ther  middle  er  ther  town  with  thet  everlasting  hell 
belcher  uv  his  ter  keep  tings  in  check.  Kurnel  Wade,  Tom 
Strong,  Hines  an  uther  big  tins  will  sortie  er  roun'  to'ards  Dry 
Pond  an  blow  up  ther  print'n  press;  thets  ter  draw  ther  Niggers 
out  frum  ther  Cotton  Press,  so  thet  Kurnel  Moss  kin  git  at  um. 
an  mow  em  down.  We  uns  will  canter  to'ards  Brooklyn  holdin' 
up  Xiggers  as  we  go.  Then  we  air  to  jine  Hill,  Sikes,  Turpin, 
Isaacs  an'  others,  an'  raise  hell  in  thet  sexion.  We  uns  air  ter  take 
no  chances  wid  theese  Wilminton  darkies.  I  ain't  ferget  Seventy- 
six.  Let  nun  git  by  without  bein'  sarched.  uraan  er  man.  Shoot 
ef  they  resiss.  Them's  the  Kurnel's  orders."  "Who  is  this  man 
Isaacs?"  asked  a  stranger  from  Georgia.  "A  Jew?"  "Thet  name's 
Jewey  e'nuff  fur  yir,  ain't  it?"  replied  Dick  Sands.  "He  is  er 
Jew,  an  er  good  un,  I  tell  yer.  I  never  took  much  stock  in  er 
Jew,  but  this  here  un  is  er  bo'n  genterman,  mo  fit  ter  be  Chris- 
tun.  No  church  in  hard  circumstance  is  ever  turned  awav  from 
Ole  Mose:  he  he'ps  em  all,  don't  kere  what  they  be.  Jewish,  Prot- 
estan  er  Caterlick,  white  er  black.  He  throde  his  influence  with 
ther"  Prohihitionists  some  years  er  go,  an  foute  hard  ter  make  er 
dry  town  outer  Wilminton,  but  ther  luvers  uv  ole  ginger  wair  too 
strong  an  jes  wallop  V  ther  life  out  er  ther  cold  water  uns.  Ole 
Mose  tuk  hit  cool,  he  died  game,  took  his  defeat  like  er  bon  fight- 
er, bekase  he'd  done  an  fill'd  his  jugs  an'  stowd  em  up  in  de  house 
afore  ther  fight  begun,  so  he  cu'd  erford  ter  be  beat.    Takin  er 


80  THE  MASSACRE. 

drink  in  public  was  ergin  his  creed.  Nice  ole  Jew  tho.  Keeps  er 
paint  store  down  street,  and  deals  in  painters'  merterial,  but  never 
buys  er  baral  er  biled  oil  wonc't  in  five  yers;  but,  like  de  widder  in 
the  Scripter,  he  alers  has  er  baral  ter  draw  frum  when.er  customer 
wants  biled  oil.  Ole  Mose  is  er  fine  man  tho;  jes  go  in  his  stoe  ter 
buy  sumthin,  pat  him  on  his  back,  and  tell  him  he  is  er  bo'n  gen- 
terman,  an  thet  you  b'lieve  he  kin  trace  his  geneology  back  ter 
Moses  an  ther  prophets,  and  thet  his  great-granddaddy's  daddy 
was  ther  only  Jew  thet  sined  ther  Dicleration  of  Independance; 
thet  he  looks  like  Napolyan,  and  he'll  jes  go  inter  his  office  an 
fetch  yer  ther  fines'  segyar  yer  ever  smoked  an  foller  yer  all  over 
ther  stoe.  Nice  ole  Jew  Isaacs  is.  Ter  see  him  stridin  down  ter 
bizniss  ov  er  mawnin,  yer  air  reminded  uv  ther  prophets  uv  ole 
jurneyin  toards  Jarusalum  ter  read  ther  law."  "What  is  the  fel- 
ler's name?"  soliloquized  a  sallow-looking  chap  who  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  stove  scratching  his  head  in  perplexity.  "Name?" 
leturned  Dick  Sands.  "Why  is  you  bin  er  listenin  ter  me  all  this 
time  an  dunno  who  I'm  talkin  erbout?"  "Excuse  me,"  returned 
the  sallow  man;  "I  no  powerful  well  who  yer  ware  talking  er  bout, 
and  I  wus  tryin  ter  think  uv  ther  name  uv  thet  chap  who's  bin  er 
stump  speakin  up  in  Sampson."  "Fisher?"  "No-o-o,  thet  ain't  ther 
name;  he's  ther  feller  thet's  runnin  fur  Congress."  "Belden!"  ex- 
claimed several  in  one  breath.  "Thet's  ther  feller.  Look  er  here," 
continued  the  sallow  man,  "he  tole  we  uns  up  there  thet  ef  we 
cum  an  he'p  ter  make  Wilminton  er  white  man's  town,  we  ware 
ter  jes  move  inter  ther  Niggers'  houses  an  own  em;  thet's  what 
brung  me  here  ter  jine  in  this  here  fite."  "Well,  I  tell  yer  fren," 
answered  Dick,  "we  air  goin  ter  make  this  er  white  man's  town, 
thet's  no  lie,  but  ther  ain't  no  shoity  er  bout  ther  other  matter." 
"Boots  an  saddles."  Further  conversation  was  cut  off.  Every 
man  flew  to  his  horse  and  the  host  of  murderers  were  off  in  a  jiffy. 
The  city  of  Wilmington  was  startled  by  the  loud  report  of  a 
cannon  on  the  morning  of  November  10th,  1898,  which  made  her 
tremble  as  though  shaken  by  an  earthquake.  Molly  Pierrcpont 
arose,  hastened  to  the  south  window  of  her  cottage  and  looked 
out;  the  clouds  which  hung  low  over  Dry  Pond  were  as  brilliant 


THE   MASSACRE.  SI 

in  hue  as  though  they  hung-  over  a  lake  of  fire.  "  Tis  fire!"  ex- 
claimed Molly;  "the  hell  hounds  are  at  their  work.  Ben  Hart- 
wright  is  keeping  his  word.  But  it's  at  the  Cotton  Press  that  the 
dance  of  death  was  to  really  begin,  where  hundreds  of  unsuspect- 
ing men  are  at  work.  The  fire  and  the  cannon  shot  are  only  a  ruse 
to  entice  them  out  to  be  shot  down.  They  must  be  warned!  I 
must  warn  them!"  She  hastily  dressed  herself,  locked  her  cottage 
and  hurried  away.  Down  Bladen  street  she  hastened,  turned  into 
Fourth  and  across  Bony  bridge.  At  the  corner  of  Campbell 
street  she  came  upon  a  large  body  of  armed  men  who  were  par- 
leying with  a  negro  who  was  making  a  futile  protest  against  being 
searched.  More  than  half  a  dozen  of  them  thrust  pistols  into  the 
helpless  and  frightened  man's  face,  while  two  others  rifled  his 
pockets  for  firearms.  All  this  Molly  took  in  at  a  glance,  as  she 
hurried  down  Campbell  street  toward  the  press.  At  the  corner 
of  Third  street  she  encountered  five  white  boys,  mere  lads,  who 
were  proceeding  up  Campbell  street.  "Halt!"  cried  they  all  in 
one  voice,  and  five  pistols  were  thrust  into  her  face.  Molly 
paused,  but  with  no  show  of  embarrassment  or  dismay.  "Come, 
hoi  up  your  hans!"  commanded  one  of  them,  advancing  a  step 
nearer.  "Hoi  on,  fellers,  we're  not  to  search  white  ladies,"  said 
another,  lowering  his  pistol,  and  attempting  to  push  the  others 
aside.  "O,  she's  no  lady;  she's  er  nigger;  I  know  her,"  returned 
the  lad  who  gave  the  command.  "Search  her!  tear  her  clothes 
from  her!  All  er  these  nigger  women  are  armed."  The  boy  raised 
his  hand  to  seize  Molly,  but  was  not  quick  enough.  Molly  stepped 
back;  a  quick  raise  of  her  foot  sent  the  boy  sprawling  into  the 
gutter.  This  completely  demoralized  his  companions,  who  broke 
and  ran.  A  gang  of  men  coming  up  Third  street  inspired  the 
bovs  to  renew  the  attack  upon  the  woman,  who  was  hurrying1  on 
her  way.  "Nigger,"  cried  the  boy,  raising  himself  up  and  scram- 
bling from  the  gutter  into  which  Molly's  well-aimed  kick  had  sent 
him.  The  men  ran  and  overtook  Molly,  spread  themselves  across 
the  sidewalk  in  front  of  her.  "Will  I  never  be  permitted  to  reach 
the  press?"  she  murmured  to  herself.  "You've  got  ter  be  search- 
ed, ole  gal,"  said  one  of  the  men,  with  a  mocking  smile  of  triumph 


82  THE   MASSACRE. 

in  his  face,  an'  you  jes'  es  well  let  these  boys  go  through  them  duds 
er  your'n  an'  have  done  with  it.  Come  now,  hands  up!"  and  they 
all  glared  like  hungry  wolves  at  the  woman,  who  stood  apparently 
unmoved.  Molly  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height.  "Cowards!" 
she  shrieked.  "Not  satisfied  at  the  cutting  off  of  every  means  of 
defense  from  the  black  men  of  Wilmington,  that  you  may  shoot 
them  down  with  impunity,  you  are  low  enough  to  take  advantage 
of  their  helplessness  to  insult  weak  women.  But  here  I  stand!" 
she  cried,  stepping  backward,  and  drawing  a  gleammg  revolver 
from  beneath  her  cloak.  "Search  me!  but  it  must  be  done  when 
the  body  is  lifeless;  I'll  be  a  target  for  the  whole  of  you  before  I'm 
searched;  so  let  the  battle  begin." 

The  men  stared  at  the  woman  in  amazement.  "Pluckies'  Nig- 
ger gal  we're  tackled  ter  day!"  exclaimed  a  gruff  and  rough-look- 
ing chap.  "Got  grit  enough  ter  buil  er  fort.  Let  her  go,  men; 
not  er  hair  un  her  hed  mus'  be  tech'd!"  The  men  stepped  to  one 
side,  and  Molly  proceeded  on  her  way.  When  she  reached  Front 
street  the  sight  which  met  her  gaze  caused  her  blood  to  chill. 
From  Front  to  Water  street  below  was  choked  with  armed  men. 
To  pass  through  such  a  crowd  without  much  more  difficulty  was 
impossible.  "Too  late!"  she  sobbed.  Rushing  across  the  railroad 
bridge,  she  hastily  descended  the  steps  to  the  road  below,  crossed 
the  tracks  to  the  shed  of  the  great  compress,  and  entered  by  one 
of  the  large  side  doors.  News  of  burning  and  pillage  on  Dry 
Pond  had  been  conveyed  to  the  workmen  by  another,  and  the 
news  had  brought  confusion  among  them  indescribable.  At  the 
main  entrance  to  the  press  stood  an  army  of  whites,  ready  to  shoot 
them  down  as  they  rushed  forth  to  go  to  the  rescile  of  their  wive* 
and  little  ones  whom  they  thought  were  being  murdered.  White 
men  with  a  cannon  mounted  on  a  lighter  anchored  in  the  river 
just  opposite  were  waiting  to  fire  upon  those  driven  back  by  the 
fire  from  Colonel  Moss'  riflemen  in  Water  street. 

A  crowd  of  frightened  and  angry  men  hastily  retreating  towards 
this  death-trap  were  suddenly  confronted  by  a  woman,  who  like 
an  heavenly  messenger,  stood  with  uplifted  hand,  her  hair  stream- 
ing in  the  wind.  "Back!  Back  men!"  she  cried.  "To  go  to  the 
river  is  to  be  killed  also;  they're  waiting  there  for  the  opportuni- 
ty." "Molly  Pierrepont!"  exclaimed  one  of  the  men  in  astonish- 
ment. "No  time  for  questions  now!"  said  the  woman;  "your 
only  safety  from  slaughter  is  to  remain  in  this  shed;  you  are  not 
able  to  cope  with  that  mob  of  cowards  on  the  outside,  who  no\v 
are  even  searching:  women  in  a  most  shameful  manner  on  the 


THE  MASSACRE.  83 

streets.  "Back!  Don't  rush  like  fools  to  death."  Molly's  head 
began  to  whirl.  Before  any  one  could  reach  out  a  hand  to  catch 
her,  she  sank  in  a  swoon  upon  the  floor.  Tenderly  the  prostrate  ■ 
form  was  lifted  up.  and  borne  to  a  place  of  safety,  and  an  effort 
made  to  revive  her.  At  the  front  entrance  were  huddled  hun- 
dreds of  negroes,  cursing  and  crying  in  their  desperation.  On 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street  in  front  of  a  company  of  armed 
whites  stood  Colonel  Moss,  his  face  red  with  determination. 
Above  the  oaths  and  groans  of  the  helpless  negroes  his  harsh 

voice  was  heard:     "Stand  back,  Mr.  !     I  tell  you  again, 

stand  out  of  the  way,  that  I  may  blow  them  into  eternity."     Mr. 

heeded  him  not,  and  Colonel  Moss  was  afraid  to  fire  for 

fear  of  injuring  a  British  Consul.  There  were  tears  in  the  eyes 
of  this  good  man  as  he  went  about  among  his  angry  workmen  im- 
ploring them  to  keep  cool.  It  was  his  bravery  and  presence  of 
mind  that  prevented  the  ignominious  slaughter  of  hundreds  of 
defenseless  men  by  a  mob  of  armed  cowards,  who  stood  there 
awaiting  the  signal  from  Colonel  Moss  to  "Blow  them  into  eter- 
nity." 

Dispatching  a  messenger  to  Dry  Pond,  who  returned  with  the    s 
assurance  that  no  one  had  been  killed,    was  instrumental  in  cool- 
ing the  negroes  and  inducing  them  to  return  to  work.     Mr. 

kept  at  his  post  until  the  white  mob  melted  away  to  join  their 
fellows  in  other  portions  of  the  city.  Look!  up  Front  Street 
comes  an  excited  crowd  of  men  and  boys.  Every  one  of  them 
seems  to  be  wrought  up  to  the  highest  pitch  of  excitement.  Every 
individual  is  struggling  to  get  to  some  one  who  is  in  the  centre 
of  the  crowd.  On  they  come!  struggling,  pushing  and  swearing. 
As  the  mob  draws  near,  the  tall,  stately  figure  of  an  old  man  is 
seen  towering  above  them.  His  abundant  hair  and  beard  are 
shaggy  and  gray.  He  stares  wildly  at  his  tormenters,  and  begs 
them  to  spare  his  life.  They  shove,  they  kick,  they  slap  him. 
"Shoot  the  Yankee  dog!  Hang  him  to  a  lamp  post!  Nigger 
hearted  carpet  bagger!  Kill  him!"  Still  the  crowd  pushes  to- 
wards the  depot.  "Who  is  this  man?  What  has  he  done?"  asked 
a  stranger.  "Done!"  exclaims  a  citizen  close  by.  "Why  he's 
been  teachin'  niggers  they're  es  good  es  white  men."  "How 
long  has  he  been  in  Wilmington?"  "Ever  sence  the  fall  er  Fort 
Fisher."  "Is  he  a  tax  paver?  Is  he  or  has  he  ever  engaged  in  any 
business  in  the  community?"  "Well,  yes;  he  owns  er  whole  coun- 
ty up  the  road  there  er  piece."  "Think  of  it!  Bin  here  all  these 
years,  an'  we  can't  make  er  decent  white  man  out'n  him!"    "Well, 


84  THE   MASSACRE. 

if  he  has  been  in  this  community  as  long  as  you  say,  and  is  to  the 
community  what  you  acknowledge,  I'd  like  to  know  what  right 
his  fellow  citizens  have  to — "  "Well  now,  stranger,  don't  you 
think  you're  gettin'  too  inquisitive?  When  er  white  man  shows 
that  he's  ergin  er  white  man,  the  question  of  what  he  owns  don't 
cut  no  ice;  he's  got  ter  go.  This  is  er  white  man's  country,  an' 
white  men  are  goin'  ter  rule  it."  Saying  this  the  citizen  hastened 
away  to  join  the  mob,  who  were  then  crossing  the  bridge  to  the 
depot  to  put  the  undesirable  citizen  upon  the  train  to  send  him 
away. 

The  mob  that  had  a  few  hours  previous  made  a  futile  attempt 
to  butcher  the  negroes  at  the  Compress  had  now  moved  in  the 
direction  of  Brooklyn  like  a  whirlwind,  sweeping  men,  women 
and  children  before  as  it  went.  Negroes,  filled  with  terror  and 
astonishment,  fled  before  this  armed  mob,  who  shot  at  them  as 
they  ran. 

When  in  a  certain  battle  during  the  Revolutionary  War,  terror 
stricken  colonists  were  retreating  before  the  superiorly  equipped 
and  disciplined  British  soldiers,  it  was  Israel  Putnam  who  vainly 
implored  the  frightened  Americans  to  make  a  stand.  General 
Putnam  cursed  and  swore,  when  he  saw  that  it  was  impossible 
to  stop  his  men  and  induce  them  to  give  battle  to  the  British. 
Was  there  a  Putnam  here  to  essay  to  inspire  courage  into  these 
frightened  negroes,  who  left  their  wives  and  children  at  the 
mercy  of  the  mob,  and  were  fleeing  toward  Hillton?  Yes,  there 
was  one,  and  his  name  was  DAN  WRIGHT.  Did  Dan  Wright 
fully  realize  the  enormity  of  his  act  as  he  faced  this  mob  of  white 
Imen,  armed  to  the  teeth,  now  pressing  down  upon  him?  Dkl 
♦Dan  Wright  feel  that  death  was  to  be  his  reward  for  this  act  of 
bravery?  Yes,  but  this  did  not  deter  him  or  affect  the  steadiness 
of  his  aim.  Above  the  oaths  and  yells  of  this  band  of  cowards, 
now  almost  upon  him,  the  report  of  his  rifle  rang  out,  and  a 
bandit  reeled  and  fell  from  his  horse.  But  Dan  was  not  to  es- 
cape; the  crowd  pressed  upon  him  and  crushed  him  to  the  earth; 
they  riddled  his  body  with  bullets,  and  dragged  him  bleeding 
and  torn  through  the  streets.  "Back  wench!"  cried  a  bandit,  as 
poor  Mrs.  Wright  pressed  forward  to  succor  her  dying  husband. 
"You  shall  not  touch  his  black  carcass;  let  the  buzzards  eat  it!" 
But  the  mob  did  not  tarry  long  beside  Dan's  bleeding  form ;  they 
swept  on  to  Brunswick  Street,  where  they  divided,  some  turning 
into  Brunswick,  while  others  rode  toward  Hillton.  Dan  Wright 
did  not  die  in  the  street,  however.     Torn  and  riddled  as  his  body 


THE  MASSACRE.  85 

was,  he  lingered  a  few  days  in  agony  in  the  city  hospital  before 
death  released  him.  "And  the  king  followed  the  bier;  and  the 
king  lifted  up  his  voice  and  wept;  and  the  king  said,  'Died  Abner 
as  a  fool  dieth?"  " 

As  we  gaze  upon  the  bleeding  form  of  this  simple  negro,  this 
question  comes  forcibly  to  us:  Died  Dan  Wright  as  a  fool  dieth? 
Was  it  right  for  him  to  stand  alone  against  such  fearful  odds? 
Yes,  that  the  chronicler  in  recording  this  terrible  one-sided  fight 
might  be  able  to  mention  one  act  of  true  bravery;  that  among  so 
many  cowards  there  was  one  man. 

I  knew  Dan  Wright  ever  since  he  was  a  lad.  He  was  simple, 
quiet,  unobtrusive;  pious  in  life  and  glorious  in  death. 

"He  was  swifter  than  an  eagle;  he  was  stronger  than  a  lion." 
Over  the  humble  grave  in  which  he  sleeps  no  shaft  of  granite 
rises  to  point  to  passers-by  where  this  martyr  to  the  cause  of 
freedom  lies.  But  when  Justice  shall  write  the  names  of  true 
heroes  upon  the  immortal  scroll,  she  will  write  the  names  of 
Leonidas,  Buoy,  Davy  Crocket,  Daniel  Boone,  Nathan  Hale, 
Wolf,  Napoleon,  Smalls,  Gushing,  Lawrence,  John  Brown,  Nat 
Turner,  and  then  far  above  them  all,  in  letters  that  shall  shine  as 
the  brightness  of  the  firmanent,  the  na,me  of  DAN  WRIGHT. 

Unlike  most  of  the  heroes  named  above,  Dan's  name  will  not 
in  this  generation  be  engraved  upon  brass  or  steel,  or  carved  in 
marble.  To  an  unsympathetic  world  he  was  an  outlaw,  who 
raised  his  arms  against  kings  and  princes,  who  feel  that  they  have 
the  sanction  of  God  Himself  to  trample  upon  the  lowly. 

With  tall  pines  as  sentinels  keeping  watch  over  it,  and  stars  for 
tapers  tall,  the  body  of  this  immortal  hero  lies  beneath  the  soil 
enriched  by  his  blood. 

"Fleet  foot  on  the  corey, 
Brave  counsel  in  cumber, 
Red  hand  in  the  foray, 
How  sound  is  the  slumber!" 

Who  killed  this  simple  fellow,  and  the  score  of  others  of  his 
race  who  fell  on  that  eventful  day?  The  blame  is  laid  upon  the 
Georgians,  who  were  invited  there  to  assist  in  restoring  white 
man's  government,  when  there  had  never  been  any  other  gov- 
ernment in  existence  there.  But  who  is  really  responsible  for  this 
cowardly  massacre?  Wilmington's  best  white  citizens,  by  whose 
invitation  and  under  whose  directions  the  Georgians  acted.  And 
what  better  market  could  have  been  sought  for  murderers  and 
cowards  and  assassins,  and  intense  haters  of  negroes  than  Geor- 


8(5  THE  MASSACRE. 

gia?  In  ante-bellum  days  Georgia  outdid  all  other  slave-holding 
States  in  cruelty  to  its  slave  population.  The  North  Carolina 
master  could  subdue  the  most  unruly  slave  by  threatening  to  sell 
him  or  her  into  Georgia.  The  old  negro  voo-doo  doctor  or  for- 
tune teller  could  fill  any  negro  for  whom  she  had  formed  a  dis- 
like with  terror,  and  bring  him  to  her  feet  begging  for  mercy 
by  walking  backward,  making  a  cross  with  her  heel  and  proph- 
esying, "You'll  walk  Georgia  road." 

When  Georgia,  the  altar  for  human  sacrifices,  perfumed  by  the 
odor  of  cooked  human  flesh,  travailed,  she  brought  forth  the 
prodegy  of  the  nineteenth  century,  whose  cries  for  blood  would 
startle  Catherine  De  Medici  and  cause  Bloody  Mary  to  look- 
aghast. 

.  Georgia  bore  upon  her  sulphurous  bosom  an  Andersonville, 
within  whose  walls  thousands  of  the  nation's  noblest  sons  suffered 
the  most  inhuman  treatment  and  died  the  most  agonizing  and 
ignominious  death.  Georgia  trained  her  cannon  upon  these  ema- 
ciated, starved  vermin-eaten  creatures  rather  than  submit  to  their 
rescue  by  an  invading  army.  Georgia's  convict  camps  of  the 
present  day  are  worse  than  slavery,  and  more  intolerable  than 
the  Siberian  mines.  The  order  of  the  States  upon  the  map  should 
be  changed  so  as  to  read  as  follows :  North  Carolina,  South  Car- 
olina, Alabama,  Mississippi,  Louisana,  Texas,  Georgia,  Hell. 
The  people  of  Wilmington  were  bargaining  for  the  genuine  arti- 
cle when  they  sent  to  Georgia  for  trained  murderers  and  assassins. 
J  Josh  Halsey  was  the  second  one  to  fall  on  that  fatal  day.  Josh 
was  deaf  and  did  not  hear  the  command  to  halt,  and  ran  untiL 
brought  down  by  a  bandit's  bullet.  Josh  Halsey  was  asleep  in 
bed  when  the  mob  turned  into  Brunswick  Street,  and  his  daugh- 
ter awoke  him,  only  to  rush  from  his  house  to  death.  The  mob 
swept  on  over  his  prostrate  form,  shooting  into  private  dwellings, 
and  frightening  men  and  children,  who  fled  to  the  woods  for 
safety,  or  hid  beneath  their  dwellings. 

Let  us  go  back  and  see  what  has  become  of  Molly.  To  bring 
her  around  it  required  heroic  efforts  on  the  part  of  men  and  the 
women  who  were  the  sewers  of  bagging  on  the  docks.  Too  weak 
for  further  effort  in  behalf  of  her  people,  she  was  tenderly  lifted 
into  a  buggy,  carried  up  by  way  of  the  old  Charlotte  depot  to  her 
home  in  Brooklyn.  Mrs.  West,  who  knowing  of  her  determina- 
tion, and  anxious  as  to  her  fate,  had  arrived  at  the  cottage  that 
morning  too  late  to  intercept  Molly.  She  lingered  about  the  cot- 
tage, however,  and  when  they  bore  the  exhausted  and  faint  girl 


THE  MASSACRE.  87 

home,  the  foster  mother  was  frantic  with  grief.  "It  was  only  a 
fainting  spell,  mother,"  said  Molly,  as  Mrs.  West  bent  over  her. 
"I  was  there  in  time  to  save  them,  but  it  cost  me — oh  so  much." 
"You  have  done  nobly,"  returned  the  mother,  soothingly.  Your 
name  should  be  placed  upon  the  roll  of  honor,  my  dear.  Go  to 
sleep;  rest  serenely  upon  your  laurels." 


Dr.  Philip  Le  Grand. 

St.  Stephen's  Church  on  the  corner  of  Red  Cross  and  Fifth 
Streets,  in  Wilmington,  is  among  the  finest  and  most  refined  of 
the  A.  M.  E.  Conference.  In  appointing  ministers  to  this  post 
the  most  diligent  care  has  always  been  exercised,  for  the  appointee 
must  be  of  the  most  eloquent,  the  most  learned  and  efficient  in 
the  gift  of  the  assembly.  So  St.  Stephen's  audiences  have  lis- 
tened to  some  of  the  world's  best  orators,  and  have  had  the  word 
expounded  by  superior  doctors  of  divinity.  Who  of  that  great 
church  can  forget  Frey  Chambers,  Thomas,  Nichols,  Gregg,  Epps 
and  others  whose  names  I  cannot  now  recall?  St.  Stephen's  is 
among  the  finest  of  church  edifices  in  the  city,  put  up  at  a  cost  of 
over  sixty  thousand  dollars,  with  a  seating  of  twenty-two  hun- 
dred. Back  of  her  pulpit  stands  an  immense  and  costly  pipe 
organ,  operated  by  water  power,  and  presided  over  by  a  young 
woman  raised  up  in  the  church,  educated  in  the  public  schools 
of  Wilmington.  During  the  political  upheaval  in  Eastern  North 
Carolina,  it  was  the  fortune  of  Rev.  Philip  Le  Grand,  D.  D.,  to 
be  the  pastor  of  St.  Stephen's,  in  Wilmington,  and  there  is  living 
to-day.  Many  men  and  women  owe  their  lives  to  the  wonderful 
presence  of  mind,  superior  tact  and  persuasiveness  of  this  grave, 
good  man.  Besides  being  a  minister,  he  had  filled  many  posi- 
tions of  trust  in  the  South.  Yet  Dr.  Le  Grand  was  both  unas- 
suming and  undemonstrative.  He  looked  for  and  expected  a 
clashing  of  races  on  election  day  in  Wilmington,  but  that  which 
took  place  on  the  'ioth  of  November  was  far  more  than  he  was 
prepared  to  grapple  with.  The  dawn  of  that  fatal  day  found  the 
streets  of  Wilmington  crowded  with  armed  men  and  boys,  who 
had  sprung,  as  it  were,  by  magic  from  the  earth.  Aroused  by 
loud  noises  in  the  neighborhood  of  his  residence,  the  minister 
arose  early,  dressed  and  hastened  into  the  street.  A  large  crowd 
of  colored  citizens,  mostly  women,  stood  upon  the  street  corner 
half  a  block  away,  excitedly  talking  and  brandishing  broomsticks, 
stove-pokers,  hoes,  axes  and  other  rude  implements  of  war.     All 


88  THE  MASSACRE. 

was  confusion  among  them.  There  seemed  to  be  no  leader,  but 
each  individual  was  wildly  ejaculating  in  a  manner  that  showed 
that  she  or  he  was  highly  wrought  up.  Dr.  Le  Grand  came 
slowly  up  to  them,  paused  and  raised  his  hands  for  silence.  "Why 
this  excitement  so  early  in  the  morning?"  he  asked.  "We's  pre- 
pared fer  urn  ter  day,"  said  a  woman,  coming  forward  and  bran- 
dishing a  broomstick.  "Dey  says  dey  gointer  kill  niggers,  but 
we's  gwine  ter  tek  er  few  er  dem  long  wid  us."  "Bah!"  exclaimed 
the  minister.  "What  will  such  a  thing  as  that  amount  to  against 
rifles?  Disperse  and  go  home,  or  you'll  be  sorry."  This  com- 
mand had  but  slight  effect  upon  this  throng,  whom  Rev.  Le 
Grand  left  and  proceeded  toward  a  crowd  of  white  men  and  boys 
who  stood  not  far  distant,  apparently  debating  the  question  of 
bearing  down  upon  and  dispersing  the  blacks  on  the  corner. 
"Halt!"  said  one  of  the  men,  stepping  in  front  of  Mr.  Le  Grand 
and  placing  his  rifle  against  his  breast.  "You  can't  go  no  further; 
this  town's  under  military  law  now."  "What  means  this  dem- 
onstration?" calmly  asked  the  minister,  with  his  eyes  fixed  stead- 
ily upon  the  face  of  the  man  who  had  given  the  command.  "It 
means  that  white  men  are  in  charge  of  things  from  now  on,"  said 
another  fellow,  stepping  up  and  eying  the  minister  contemptu- 
ously. You  educated  nigger  preachers  have  been  teaching  your 
race  that  white  men  are  not  ordained  to  rule,  and  such  teaching 
has  got  'em  beside  themselves,  so  much  so  that  the  white  people 
are  compelled  to  take  stringent  measures." 

"Will  you  kindly  inform  me  who  the  leader  of  this  movement 
is?"  persisted  Dr.  Le  Grand  calmly.  "Big  words  these,"  said  the 
first  man  who  had  spoken.  "I  guess  we'd  better  settle  this  nig- 
ger." "Hold  on,  Sam,"  said  the  second  man,  pushing  aside  the 
gun  the  man  had  raised.  "This  is  St.  Stephen's  preacher.  He  is 
not  on  the  list.  "I'm  out  here  in  the  name  of  peace,"  said  Dr. 
Le  Grand,  "willing  to  do  anything  to  bring  that  end."  "Well," 
said  the  leader,  producing  a  notebook  from  his  breast  pocket,  and 
scribbling  something  in  it, "we  came  out  to-day  to  wash  the  streets 
in  nigger  gore,  and  if  you  can  induce  them  to  go  home,  you  and 
others  of  the  leading  men  of  your  race,  instead  of  encouraging 
them  to  bully  white  people,  you  can  save  many  lives.  Colonel 
Moss  is  the  gentleman  to  go  to.  But  you'll  need  a  pass,"  tearing 
a  leaf  from  the  notebook  and  handing  it  to  Dr.  Le  Grand;  "and  I 
doubt  if  that  will  take  you  through  the  lines.  You  will  doubtless 
find  the  colonel  somewhere  in  the  down-town  section,  of  the  citv. 
Stand  aside,  men,  and  let  him  pass."     Dr.  Le  Grand  took  tlie 


THE   MASSACRE.  89 

slip  of  paper  and  started  for  the  section  of  the  city  indicated,  but 
the  way  was  so  choked  with  men  and  boys,  who  challenged  and 
parleyed  with  him  in  spite  of  the  permit  he  carried,  that  progress 
was  slow.  Men  whom  he  had  met  in  his  common  every-day  life 
in  Wilmington,  men  who  had  been  cordial  and  gentlemanly  in 
their  greetings,  now  either  hurled  bitter  epithets  at  him,  or 
passed  him  with  averted  eyes.  Several  times  during  that  morn- 
ing were  guns  pointed  into  his  face  as  he  paused  here  and  there 
to  stop  collisions  that  were  constantly  occurring  between  white 
and  black  men,  fatal  in  every  instance  to  the  blacks,  who,  without 
arms,  were  no  match  for  the  well-equipped  whites,  who  took  ad- 
vantage of  their  helplessness  to  bully  them.  The  most  thrilling 
scene  witnessed  was  that  which  made  the  minister's  heart  faint, 
although  the  incident  excited  the  admiration  of  all  who  beheld  it. 
Above  the  oaths  of  excited  men  and'  boys  was  heard  a  wild  cheer 
a  few  blocks  away,  followed  by  the  defiant  cry  of  a  negro  boy, 
who  came  panting  up  the  street,  unmindful  of  the  cry  of  "halt" 
that  issued  from  many  lips.  Frantically  waving  a  huge  revolver 
in  his  hand,  he  fell  upon  his  face  within  a  few  yards  of  where  the 
minister  stood,  pierced  by  a  rifle  ball.  Turning  over  slowly  upon 
his  back,  he  leveled  his  pistol  and  fired  into  the  crowd  of  men 
closing  in  on  him,  shattering  the  arm  of  a  Georgia  bandit.  "He 
is  dying!"  exclaimed  the  minister,  with  uplifted  hand  to  prevent 
the  men  from  doing  further  violence  to  the  dying  lad,  whose  life- 
blood  was  making  crimson  the  sand  where  he  lay.  One  man  in 
the  crowd  stooped  and  picked  up  the  pistol  that  had  fallen  from 
the  lad's  grasp.  He  raised  it  up  before  the  crowd  and  said: 
"Let  him  die  in  peace,  boys;  I  admire  a  brave  heart,  if  it  is  under 
a  black  skin."  The  crowd  dispersed.  The  minister  got  down 
upon  his  knees  and  raised  the  lad's  head  into  his  arms.  He 
opened  his  eyes  and  fixed  them  upon  the  face  of  the  man  of  God. 
who  had  begun  to  stroke  his  forehead  with  his  hand.  "God  be 
merciful  to  thee,  my  son,"  said  the  minister  tenderly.  "Dat's  all 
right,  parson,"  returned  the  lad  faintly,  with  a  smile  upon  his 
ebony  face.  "I  tol'  um  I'd  die  foe  I'd  giv'  up  ma  gun,  an'  I  tink 
dat  when  I  tun  ober  dat  time  I  got  one  er  dem." 

"What  is  your  name,  my  son?"  asked  Dr.  Le  Grand,  eagerly. 
There  was  no  answer;  the  boy  was  gone  into  undying  life.  The 
minister  gently  laid  the  little  hero  back  upon  the  ground  to  await 
the  arrival  of  the  undertaker's  wagon,  and  went  on  his  way.  This 
incident  somewhat  awed  the  bandits,  some  of  whom  stood  off 
some  little  distance  and  watched  him  through   the  scene;  and 


90  THE   MASSACRE. 

his  progress  was  attended  with  but  little  further  difficulty.  When 
he  reached  Front  Street,  however,  the  Record  Office  on  Dry 
Pond  had  been  burned,  and  the  futile  attempt  to  murder  the 
workmen  at  the  cotton  press  had  been  made.  Several  black  men 
had  been  killed  during  the  morning,  and  their  bodies  left  where 
they  had  been  shot  down.  At  the  corner  of  Front  and  Chestnut 
Streets  three  men  passed  him  under  guard,  walking  rapidly  to- 
ward the  depot,  and  whom  he  recognized  as  prominent  citizens — 
one  a  grocery  man  another  quite  an  extensive  real  estate  cnvnor 
and  money  lender,  while  the  third,  a  white  man,  had  been  a  mag- 
istrate in  the  city  for  quite  a  number  of  years.  These  men  were 
being  escorted  to  the  trains  by  soldiers,  who  had  considerable 
trouble  in  keeping  a  mob  of  men  and  boys  from  doing  them  vio- 
lence. "Well,  what  are  you  standing  up  here  for?"  asked  a  man, 
turning  aside  from  the  throng  that  surrounded  the  fugitives,  and 
akimbo  wed  in  front  of  the  minister.  "No  niggers  are  allowed  to 
loiter;  white  men  are  in  charge  of  affairs  from  now  on."  "I  have 
a  pass  that  permits  me  to  interview  the  Colonel,"  answered  Dr. 
Le  Grand,  holding  up  the  paper  before  the  man's  eyes.  The 
man  took  the  paper  and  read  it  slowly.  "Come,"  said  he  in  a 
gentler  tone  of  voice,  "I'll  take  you  through  to  the  Colonel,  for 
you  can't  go  by  yourself."  Across  the  street,  and  in  the  direction 
jof  the  cotton  press  they  proceeded.  At  the  corner  of  Mulberry 
t  Street  they  met  Colonel  Moss  going  southward,  with!  a  crowd  of 
soldiers  and  citizens  about  him.  He  scowled  at  the  minister, 
his  face  flushed  with  anger  as  the  minister  saluted.  "What  do 
you  want?"  he  roared.  "That's  the  question  I  have  come  to  ask 
you,"  returned  the  minister.  "What  do  you  wish  us  to  do?  We 
are  willing  to  do  anything  to  stop  this  carnage."  "We  want  noth- 
ing! We  are  masters  of  the  situation,"  answered  the  Colonel 
hotly.  But  the  minister  persisted.  "Hear  me,  Colonel.  This  is 
indeed  a  one-sided  fight.  Our  men  are  unarmed,  and  are  the 
chief  sufferers  in  this  affair."  "It's  your  own  fault,"  roared  Col- 
onel Moss.  "We  gave  you  colored  leaders  time  to  comply  with 
our  request  to  burn  the  negro's  printing  outfit.  We  waited 
twelve  hours  for  your  reply,  and  it  came  not.  so  we  took  the  mat- 
ter into  our  own  hands.  We  propose  to  scourge  this  black  pest 
out  of  Wilmington.  If  you  can  induce  them  to  go  to  their  homes 
and  recognize  the  authority  of  the  white  people,  you  can  prevent 
further  bloodshed."  "I  will  do  my  best,"  replied  the  minister. 
Dr.  Le  Grand  was  placed  in  a  buggy,  between  two  whites,  to 
protect  him  against  violence.     This  man  of  God  finished  that  day, 


THE   MASSACRE.  91 

and  the  other  days  of  terror  to  the  unfortunate  negroes,  in  induc- 
ing rebellious  black  citizens  throughout  the  city  to  submit  to 
overwhelming  odds  against  them,  and  staking  his  own  life  upon 
the  good  character  of  this  or  that  man  or  woman  in  danger  of  be- 
ing killed  for  some  trivial  charge  made  by  a  white  person,  whether 
remote  or  recent. 


MRS.  ADELAIDE   PETERSON'S  NARRATIVE. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

Mrs.  Adelaide  Peterson's  Narrative. 

New  Bedford,  Mass.,  Dec.  19,  1899. 
Dear  Jack  Thorne  : 

In  compliance  with  your  request  for  a  narrative  of  what  I  wit- 
nessed of  the  massacre  which  took  place  in  Wilmington,  N.  C, 
in  November,  1898,  I  herewith  write  for  the  information  of  the 
world  what  happened  in  the  section  of  the  city  known  as  Dry 
Pond.  The  plans  for  the  slaughter  of  November  10th  had  been 
carefully  laid.  The  negroes,  lulled  into  a  feeling  of  security  by  the 
usual  yet  unexpected  quiet  election,  were  utterly  surprised  on 
the  morning  of  the  10th  to  find  the  streets  choked  with  armed 
men  and  boys.  The  mob,  it  seems,  formed  at  the  Court  House, 
and  dividing  itself  into  bands  scattered  into  every  direction,  hold- 
ing up  and  searching  both  black  men  and  women,  beating  and 
shooting  those  who  showed  a  disposition  to  resist.  On  the  cor- 
ner of  Seventh  and  Nun  Streets  stands  Gregory  Normal  Insti- 
tute for  colored  youth,  with  Christ  Church  (Congregational)  and 
the  teachers'  home,  comprising  the  most  beautiful  group  of 
buildings  in  the  city.  This  is  the  property  of  the  American  Mis- 
sionary Association.  The  morning  devotions  had  just  ended  in 
this  school  on  the  morning  of  the  10th,  and  scholars  were  going 
to  the  different  class-rooms,  when  the  report  of  a  gun  threw  the 
entire  school  and  neighborhood  into  confusion.  Children  ran 
to  their  teachers  for  safety,  who,  with  blanched  faces,  stood  dumb 
with  terror,  for  a  mob  of  armed  whites  had  already  surrounded 
the  buildings  and  completely  blocked  Seventh,  Ann  and  Nun 
streets.  On  Seventh  street,  between  Nun  and  Church  streets,  in 
a  small  wooden  structure,  the  much  talked  of  Wilmington  Record 
had  found  a  temporary  home,  and  this  was  the  objective  point 
of  the  mob.  Surrounding  this  building,  they  battered  down  the 
door,  broke  in  pieces  the  printing  outfit,  and  then  set  fire  to  the 
building.     Many  women,  with  their  little  ones,  took  to  the  woods, 


MRS.  ADELAIDE  PETERSON'S  NARRATIVE.  93 

so  thoroughly  frightened  were  they  at  this  strange  and  unlooked- 
for  spectacle.  Black  men  were  awed  into  helplessness  by  the 
superiorly  armed  mob.  I  was  at  the  ironing  table,  when  one  of 
my  little  ones  ran  in  and  told  me  that  the  school  house  was  on 
fire.  I  hurried  out  to  join  the  crowd  of  anxious  mothers,  who 
were  hurrying  in  that  direction  to  rescue  their  children,  whom, 
they  supposed,  were  in  danger.  But  we  were  not  able  to  get  past 
the  crowd  of  men  who  surrounded  the  Record  building.  The 
cries  of  the  frightened  children  could  be  heard,  and  the  inability 
of  the  mothers  to  reach  them  added  to  the  horror  of  the  scene. 
One  mother,  frenzied  with  grief  and  desperation,  pushed  and 
shoved  her  way  through,  despite  the  threats  of  the  mob.  One 
little  girl  died  of  sheer  fright.  The  shooting  without,  mingled 
with  the  oaths  of  the  men  and  the  frantic  wails  of  the  women 
without  were  too  much  for  the  little  one  to  bear.  Her  teacher's 
assurance  of  safety  were  of  no  avail.  The  teachers  finally  made 
a  bold  front,  pushed  their  way  through  the  crowd  and  delivered 
the  frightened  children  to  their  frightened  parents,  some  of  whom 
did  not  return  to  their  homes,  but  hastened  to  the  woods  for 
i-.afety.  I  returned  home.  My  husband,  who  worked  at  the 
Press  did  not  arrive  until  late  that  night,  he  having  had  serious 
difficulty  in  passing  the  armed  whites  who  lined  the  streets,  and 
challenged  him  at  every  corner.  He  informed  me  that  Colonel 
Moss,  on  leaving  Dr.  Pond,  went  immediately  to  the  Press  with 
the  intention  of  killing  all  the  men  at  work  there,  but  was  thwart- 
ed by  the  coolness  of  Mr. and  Molly  Pierrepont,  who  went 

from  her  home  to  warn  them.  I  bless  that  woman  for  her  cour- 
age. She  stood  like  a  goddess  among  those  men  and  prevented 
them  from  rushing  into  a  trap  prepared  for  them.  My  husband 
at  first  thought  it  -unsafe  to  remain  in  the  house  that  night;  the 
poor  whites  were  heavily  armed  and  were  likely  to  do  most  any- 
thing. They  had  already  fired  into  several  houses  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. Some  one  rapped  at  the  door.  I  was  too  frightened 
to  move.  My  husband  finally  opened  the  door,  and  in  staggered 
Joe  Bently.  bleeding  profusely  from  a  large  gash  in  his  forehead. 
He  said:  "I  was  trying  to  reach  the  hill  this  evening  without  be- 
ing searched,  as  I  did  not  want  to  part  with  my  gun.  At  the 
corner  of  Market  and  Front  streets  I  met  Mr.  Philip  Hines,  who 
offered  to  take  me  through  the  crowd  to  safety,  and  led  me  right 
into  trouble.  I  was  held  up  and  searched.  Ben  Turpin  took  my 
revolver  from  me  and  gave  me  this  gash  on  my  forehead  with 
the  butt  of  it."     I  bathed  and  bound  up  Bently's  wound,  and  he 


94  MRS.  ADELAIDE  Pii'l'KRSON'S  NARRATIVE. 

lay  himself  upon  the  lounge  in  my  dining-room,  and  being  weak 
from  the  loss  of  blood,  soon  dropped  off  to  sleep.  We  were  too 
frightened  to  lie  down.  Thirty  minutes  elapsed.  We  heard  the 
sound  of  footsteps  approaching;  the  door  received  a  vigorous 
kick.  "Hello!"  came  from  without.  "Say  Peterson!  Don't  be 
afraid;  this  is  McGinn!"  My  husband  opened  the  door.  "Is  that 
you,  Mr.  Mac?"  said  he.  "Yes,  we  are  looking  for  that  feller 
Manly."  "I  guess  he's  far  away,"  returned  my  husband.  "Well, 
its  good  for  him  that  he  is.  Who's  in  there  with  you?"  "My 
family."  "Well,  I  believe  you,  Peterson.  Good  night."  The 
men  went  their  way.  We  were  molested  no  more  during  the 
night,  but  shooting  wag  kept  up  at  intervals  in  the  neighborhood 
all  night.     Some  citizens  slept  under  their  houses  for  safety. 

The  morning  of  the  nth  of  November  dawned  clear  and  cold, 
and  the'  sufferings  of  those  who  were  compelled  to  sleep  in  the 
open  air  were  terrible.  At  about  nine  o'clock  Rev.  Simons  called 
at  my  house.  He  had  his  wagon  laden  with  comfortables  for  the 
suffering  ones.  "Hundreds  are  in  the  woods,"  he  said  after  greet- 
ing me,  "and  God  only  knows  what  their  sufferings  were  during 
the  night." 

"People  of  the  Saxon  race,  whom  we  have  trusted  so  implic- 
itly, this  is  your  work,  for  which  you  must  answer  to  God,"  and 
with  his  hand  he  'brushed  away  a  tear.  Together  we  rode  to  the 
woods,  my  husband  remaining  home  with  the  children.  Far 
beyond  "Jump  and  Run"  we  came  upon  quite  a  crowd  of  women 
and  children,  who  had  built  a  large  fire,  and  were  huddled  about 
it.  One  woman,  a  tall  creature,  ran  to  meet  us  as  we  approached 
with  outstretched  hands  and  a  maniacal  stare  in  her  eyes. 
"Where's  my  husband?"  she  shrieked.  "Is  it  true  he  is  killed? 
An'  are  you  comin'  to  kill  me?"  "No,  my  dear,"  answered  the 
minister,  "we  come  to  bring  you  comfort."  "No!  no!  no!"  she 
cried.  "Tell  me  no  more  about  God.  Hagar's  children  have  no 
God.  They  arc  forsaken!  Lost!  lost!  lost!"  Several  women 
came  up  and  took  hold  of  the  demented  creature  and  led  her 
away.  "She's  los'  her  mind,"  said  one.  "She  sat  here  las'  night 
an'  saw  her  dear  friend  an'  neighbor  die  in  the  agony  of  child- 
birth; and  that,  with  the  news  of  her  husband's  death  has  unbal- 
anced her  mind."  "There  lays  the  woman,"  said  another,  taking 
the  minister  by  the  hand  and  leading  him  to  where — cold  and 
lifeless — the  body  of  the  woman  with  that  of  the  new-born  babe 
by  its  side.  The  poor,  demented  creature  had  taken  a  seat  upon 
a  stump  beside  the  corpse,  and  was  moaning  and  wringing  her 


MRS.  ADELAIDE  PETERSON'S  NARRATIVE.  95 

hands.  "Lord,  be  merciful!"  exclaimed  the  minister,  with  clasp- 
ed hands.  "They  are  all  about  here,"  said  another  woman;  "these 
are  not  all  that  have  died  during  the  night."  We  busied  our- 
selves in  giving  such  comfort  as  lay  in  our  power.  In  our  search 
among  the  bushes  we  came  across  several  dead  and  others  dying 
from  the  night's  exposure.  So  thoroughly  frightened  were  these 
people  that  we  could  not  induce  them  to  believe  it  safe  to  venture 
back  to  their  own  homes.  The  situation  was  indeed  appalling. 
On  our  way  into  the  city  we  met  some  humane  whites  going  out 
to  persuade  the  frightened  refugees  back. 

The  ioth  day  of  November,  1898,  can  never  be  forgotten.  I 
will  not  close  this  narrative  without  mentioning  an  act  of  bravery 
performed  by  a  lone  woman  which  stopped  the  vulgar  and  inhu- 
man searching  of  women  in  our  section  of  the  city.  The  most 
atrocious  and  unpardonable  act  of  the  mob  was  the  wanton  dis- 
regard for  womanhood.  Lizzie  Smith  was  the  first  woman  to 
make  a  firm  and  stubborn  stand  against  the  proceeding  in  the 
southern  section.  It  was  near  the  noon  hour  when  Lizzie,  home- 
ward bound,  reached  the  corner  of  Orange  and  Third  streets.  A 
block  away  she  saw  a  woman  struggling  to  free  herself  from  the 
grasp  of  several  men  who  were,  in  turn,  slapping  her  face  and 
otherwise  abusing  her.  The  woman  fought  until  her  clothes  were 
torn  to  shreds;  then  with  a  shove  the  men  allowed  her  to  proceed 
on  her  way.  Lizzie  could  have  saved  herself  by  running  away, 
but  anger  at  such  cowardice  had  chased  away  every  vestige  of 
fear.  She  leisurely  walked  up  to  where  the  fight  was  going  on. 
"Halt,"  said  one  of  the  ruffians  to  Lizzie,  "an'  let's  see  how  many 
razors  you  got  under  them  duds.  That  tother  wench  was  er 
walkin'  arsennel.  Come  now!"  roared  the  man,  "none  er  your 
cussed  impert'nence."  Lizzie,  instead  of  assaying  to  comply, 
akimbowed  and  looked  defiantly  at  the  crowd  about  her.  "Oh, 
yo'  po'  white  trash."  "Shut  up  or  we'll  settle  you  an'  have  done 
with  it,"  said  the  leader,  making  a  motion  toward  his  hip  pocket. 
"Yo'  will,  eh!"  answered  the  girl,  "yo1  kan't  skeer  me.  But  ef 
yo'  wanter  search  me  I'll  take  off  ma  clothes,  so  yo'  won't  have 
ter  tear  'em,"  and  Lizzie  began  to  hurriedly  unfasten  her  bodice. 
"Yo've  got  ter  search  me  right,"  she  continued,  throwing  off 
piece  after  piece;  "yo'll  fin'  I  am  jes'  like  yo'  sisters  an'  mammies, 
yo'  po'  tackies."  "That'll  do,"  growled  one  of  the  men,  as  Lizzie 
was  unbuttoning  the  last  piece.  "Oh,  no,'  returned  the  girl,  "I'm 
goin'  ter  git  naked;  yer  got  ter  see  that  I'm  er  woman."  White 
women  were  looking  on  from  their  windows  at  this  sight  so 


9(i  MRS.  ADELAIDE  PETERSON'S  NARRATIVE. 

shocking.  One  had  the  courage  to  shout  "Shame!  how  dare  you 
expose  that  woman  in  that  manner?"  "Them's  the  curnel's  or- 
ders,' replied  the  leader,  raising  his  hat.  "Who  is  the  Colonel, 
and  what  right  has  he  to  give  such  orders?"  shrieked  the  woman. 
"You  ought  to'  be  ashamed  of  yourselves  for  your  own  wives  and 
daughters'  sakes."  The  men  skulked  away  and  left  Lizzie  victor 
on  the  field.    Yours  for  justice  and  right, 

ADELAIDE  PETERSON. 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  REV.  SELKIRK.  97 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


The  Flight  of  Reverend  Selkirk. 

There  is  a  great  deal  said  about  the  fatality  of  the  wind  of  Bos- 
ton Bay.  Even  the  native  Bostonian  dreads  its  icy  touch,  and 
when  winter  comes  to  re-enforce  its  intensity,  as  many  as  can, 
seek  warmer  climes.  A  few  winters  ago.  among  the  many  tourists 
who  sought  accommodations  on  a  train  South-bound  were  Rev. 
Hiland  Silkirk,  wife  and  twc  children.  Rev.  Silkirk's  many 
years  of  ministerial  work  in  the  old  cradle  of  liberty  had  some- 
what told  upon  his  health,  and  he  felt  that  a  few  months  or  years 
in  a  warmer  clime  would  result  in  the  recovery  of  lost  vigor. 
He  had  purchased  a  ticket  for  Wilmington;  X.  C.  The  air  there 
was  mild,  bracing  and  dry  and  made  health  giving  and  mellow 
by  the  sweet  odor  of  the  yellow  pine.  And  then,  again,  a  field 
was  open  for  the  continuance  of  his  work  while  he  recuperated. 
a  certain  Baptist  church  in  the  old  city  had  called  him  to  its  pas- 
torate. Being  a  man  of  exceptional  ability,  affable  and  of  sunny 
temperament,  Rev.  Hiland  Silkirk  was  just  the  man  to  win  friends 
among  Southern  people,  and  he  won  them  among  both  white  and 
black  citizens  in  that  old  town.  This  is  the  case  in  every  South- 
ern community.  A  Negro  man  of  prominence  can  retain  his  pop- 
ularity on  certain  lines  among  the  whites  if  he  keeps  out  of  poli- 
tics and  in  all  race  troubles  remains  neutral.  But  he  cannot  take 
this  stand  and  be  universally  loved.  His  reward  will  inevitably 
be  the  contempt  of  his  own  race,  which  he  cannot  afford  to  en- 
gender. And  no  man  who  loves  his  people  can  hide  his  light 
under  a  bushel;  can  keep  quiet  when  they  are  assailed.  He  must, 
he  will  raise  hand  and  voice  in  their  defense.  Moses  refused  to 
dwell  in  the  king's  palace  while  his  people  suffered  about  him. 
No!  he  went  forth,  and  in  his  zeal  smote  an  uncircumcised  Egyp- 
tian oppressor  to  death  and  fled  into  a  strange  land  and  there 
fitted  himself  for  their  deliverer.  Rev.  Hiland  Silkirk  counted 
his  friends  among  some  leading  ministers  and  laymen  of  the  oppo- 


9S  THR  FLIGHT  OF  REV.  SELKIRK. 

site  race.  Hut  Rev.  Silkirk  was  true  to  his  own,  and  when  the 
time  came  to  test  that  devotion,  he  arrayed  himself  with  his  own 
people  and  endangered  his  own  life.  When,  in  the  early  part  of 
August,  1898,  the  fight  between  the  editor  of  the  Record  and  the 
editor  of  the  Messenger  waxed  hot  over  the  inflammatory  letters 
on  the  race  question  from  the  pen  of  Mrs.  Fells,  of  Georgia,  which 
had  its  final  result  in  the  destruction  of  the  Record's  property 
and  the  banishment  of  its  editor,  Rev.  Silkirk  did  not  hesitate  to 
join  in  the  controversy.  This  caused  many  of  his  white  friends  to 
cool  towards  him,  and  it  placed  his  name  upon  the  list  of  danger- 
ous (?)  Negroes  to  be  killed  or  banished.  After  the  general  raid 
which  terrorized  and  put  the  city  in  a  state  of  panic  on  the  10th  of 
November,  the  mobs  divided  into  squads,  and,  as  deputy  sheriffs, 
begun  to  arrest  and  drive  from  the  city  the  objects  of  their  spleen. 
The  duly  elected  Mayor  and  other  officials  having  been  deposed, 
bandits  were  put  in  their  places.  *A  portion  of  the  mob  which 
destroyed  the  Record  building  on  the  morning  of  the  10th,  start- 
ed northward  toward  Walnut  street,  on  which  the  hated  Negro 
minister  resided.  But  among  the  white  ministers  in  Wilmington 
there  was  one  at  least  who  would  not  allow  his  prejudice  to  im- 
pair his  devotion  to  a  worthy  friend.  He,  aware  of  the  plot  to 
murder  the  black  divine,  set  out  on  that  morning  to  warn  him  of 
his  clanger.  The  Rev.  Silkirk,  aroused  and  alarmed  by  the  noise 
of  guns  coming  from  every  direction  in  the  city,  had  just  mount- 
ed his  bicycle  and  started  in  the  direction  of  Dry  Pond.  As  he 
turned  into  Seventh  street  he  saw,  more  than  two  blocks  away, 
another  bicyclist  breathlessly  pedaling  toward  him.  "Why.  Dr. 
Sawyer,  I  was- just  starting  to  your  house!"  said  the  colored  man, 
as  the  white  one  rode  up  and  dismounted.  "And  I  was  just  com- 
ing to  your  house  to  inform  you  that  a  ride  in  my  direction  is  dan- 
gerous! Return!  There  is  no  time  to  be  lost.  Get  into  the 
woods!  They  are  on  the  way  to  your  house  now  to  kill  vou.  I 
must  not  be  seen  with  you.  Go!  Make  haste!"  This  was  all 
said  in  one  breath,  and  before  the  colored  man  could  recover  from 
his  astonishment  to  ask  a  question  the  white  one  was  gone. 
Down  the  street  a  cloud  of  dust  rose  before  the  colored  minister's 
eyes.  The  bandits  were  only  a  few  blocks  away.  There  was  not 
even  time  to  return  to  his  home.  He  hastened  down  Walnut 
street,  crossed  Red  Cross  into  Campbell,  and  made  for  the  woods. 
The  bandits  rode  up  to  the  minister's  house,  dismounted  and  sur- 
rounded it,  but  the  quarry  was  gone.  From  the  frightened  wife 
and  little  ones  they  could  glean  no  information  as  to  the  where 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  REV.  SELKIRK.  90 

abouts  of  the  minister.  They  were  about  to  satisfy  their  ven- 
geance by  subjecting  the  helpless  woman  to  revolting  indignities, 
when  a  boy  ran  up  to  inform  them  of  the  direction  in  which  the 
man  had  fled.  The  mob  mounted  their  horses  and  made  a  dash 
for  Oak  Dale  Cemetery.  The  colored  people  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, afraid  to  approach  to  offer  protection  to  poor  .Mrs.  Silkirk, 
now  gathered  about  her.  All  were  unanimous  in  the  belief  that 
the  bandits  would  return  should  they  fail  to  find  the  minister, 
and  not  only  molest  her,  but  shoot  into  the  houses  of  others  as 
well.  So  they  decided  to  take  her  to  the  church,  yea,  gather  the 
whole  neighborhood  in  there.  "Sho,  dey  won't  shoot  in  de  house 
er  God,"  said  an  old  lady.  "Le'  -us  git  dar  an'  pray;  we  kin  do 
nuth'n  better.    Le'  us  ask.de  Lawd  wot  it  all  means?" 

When  Rev.  Silkirk  reached  a  secluded  spot  in  the  woods  he  was 
wet.  sore  and  exhausted  from  wading  through  marshes  and  being 
scratched  by  briars.  Night  had  set  in.  He  lay  down  beneath  a 
clump  of  bushes  to  rest;  but  there  was  no  rest  for  this  poor  inno- 
cent wretch,  outlawed  by  ruffians  and  compelled  to  leave  his  wife 
and  little  ones,  and  be  hunted  as  a  wild  beast  in  the  forest.  This 
is  the  fate  of  many  a  Negro  \\  ho  had  committed  no  more  offense 
against  law  and  order.  Hut  this,  to  such  characters  as  Rev.  Sil- 
kirk, was  no  evidence  of  God's  displeasure.  Men  more  righteous 
than  he  had  been  compelled  to  flee  for  their  lives;  yea,  suffer  death 
for  truth's  sake;  men  of  whom  the  world  was  not  worthy.  He 
pillowed  his  head  upon  a  tuft  of  wire  grass,  and  gazed  upward 
towards  the  spangled  skies.  "Lord,  we  cannot  tell  why  this,  thy 
people,  are  so-  severely  tried ;  yet  we  believe  that  all  things  work- 
together  for  good  to  them  that  trust  in  Thee.  Strengthen  our 
faith,  Lord.  Save  our  wives  and  little  ones  from  a  fate  worse 
than  death  at  the  hands  of  the  wicked,  who  glory  and  take  delight 
in  shameful  treatment  of  the  defenseless."  He  heard  the  tramping 
of  horses'  feet  among  the  bushes  only  a  short  distance  away,  and 
soon  several  men  galloped  past  where  he  lay — so  close  that  one 
of  the  horses  brushed  against  the  bush  which  sheltered  him.  The 
frightened  minister  lay  perfectly  still  until  the  footsteps  died  away, 
then  he  arose  and  went  cautiously  back  to  the  city  to  see.  if  pos- 
sible, what  had  been  the  fate  of  his  wife  and  children,  left  to  the 
mercy  of  a  disappointed  and  angry  mob. 

The  feeling  that  the  church  was  the  only  place  for  safety  filled 
the  breasts  of  most  of  the  frightened  souls  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Seventh  and  Red  Cross  streets  on  the  evening  of  the  dreadful 
joth  of  November,  after  the  band  of  Red  Shirts  had  terrorized  the 


100  THE  FLIGHT  OF  REV.  SELKIRK. 

people  in  their  blusterous  hunt  for  the  negro  minister.  "It  seem- 
ed like  the  day  of  Judgment,"  said  an  eye  witness.  There  were 
no  loud  lamentations,  as  is  usual  when  colored  people  are  wrought 
up  under  excitement,  but  sobs,  groans  and  whispered  petitions. 
Bless  our  pastor,  Lord,  an'  save  him  ef  it  be  Thy  will,"  came  from 
many  lips,  followed  by  "Amens"  and  "Do,  Lord."  Suddenly  the 
church  was  thrown  into  a  spasm1  of  excitement  that  could  not  be 
suppressed,  for  while  they  were  breathing  prayers  for  his  deliver- 
ance, the  pastor,  wet,  footsore  and  tired,  entered  and  strode  slowly 
up  the  aisle.  "Why  did  you,  oh,  why  did  you  come  back?"  ex- 
claimed his  wife,  throwing  her  arms  about  the  minister's  neck, 
while  others  in  their  excitement  gathered  about  them.  The  Rev. 
Silkirk  gently  led  his  wife,  who  had  almost  fainted  in  his  arms,  to 
a  chair  and  raised  his  hand  for  silence*  "Brethren  and  sisters," 
he  began,  "my  escape  from  death  to-day  has  been  a  narrow  one. 
1  knew  that  my  attitude  in  the  Manly-Fells  controversy  had  caus- 
ed some  of  my  friends  to  cool  toward  me,  but  I  did  not  believe 
that  it  would  ripen  into  a  desire  to  murder  me,  because  of  my 
opinions.  Nevertheless,  my  attitude  is  the  same.  I  do  not  re- 
tract a  single  word  said  in  defense  of  my  people.  Twenty  or  more 
men  were  killed  to-day — men  who  are  innocent  of  any  wrong. 
I  may  be  numbered  with  them  before  morning;  yet  love  for  my 
wife  and  little  ones  and  you  caused  me  to  tempt  death  by  return- 
ing here  to  console  and  speak  a  word  of  comfort  to  you.  These 
may  be  evidences  of  God's  displeasure;  we  may  have  in  our  pros- 
perity forgotten  to  give  Him  the  glory  due  unto  His  name;  yet 
by  these  afflictions  we  may  know  that  we  are  beloved  of  God.  for 
whom  he  loveth  He  chasteneth.  We  are  too  well  schooled  in 
affliction  to  be  dismayed,  and  they  who  are  responsible  for  this 
rioting  may  just  as  well  try  to  stop  the  river  in  its  flow  as  to  try 
to  triumph  permanently  over  a  people  who  by  affliction  have 
waxed  so  strong  in  faith.  We  are  as  firm  as  Mount  Zion,  which 
cannot  be  moved.  You,  all  of  you,  deem  it  expedient  that  I  go 
away;  so  to-night,  by  the  help  of  the  Lord.  I  shall  try  to  get  away 
from  this  place.  I  may  see  you  again,  I  cannot  tell;  if  not,  there 
are  twelve  gates  to  the  City,  and,  with  God's  help,  we'll  meet  up 
there.  Let  us  have  a  few  moments  of  silent  prayer."  Every  knee 
was  bended  on  that  terrible  night;  but  so  emotional  is  the  colored 
American  that  silence  in  a  meeting  of  this  kind  is  maintained 
with  difficulty.  A  silence  of  two  minutes  elapsed — followed  by 
sobs  and  groans  painful  to  listen  to.  Then  a  voice  tremulous  with 
emotion  floated  over  the  assemblage — a  woman's  voice: 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  REV.  SELKIRK.  101 

"Father  in  heaven,  we  have  evidence  that  thou  didst  hear  thy 
children's  cry  in  days  past  and  gone,  and  we  believe  that  Thou 
wilt  hear  us  now.  (Yes,  Lord.)  Thou  didst  hear  the  Hebrew 
children.  (Yes.)  Thou  didst  deliver  Daniel.  (Yes.)  Thou  didst 
hear  Africa's  groans,  and  didst  break  her  chains.  (Yes, 
Lord.)  Oh  Jesus,  Master,  hear  us  to-night.  (Do,  Jesus.)  We 
cannot  tell,  Lord,  why  we  are  buffeted,  beaten,  murdered  and 
driven  from  our  homes,  and  made  to  seek  refuge  among  strang- 
ers; but  Thou  knowest.  Perhaps  in  our  prosperity  we  have  for- 
gotten to  give  Thee  the  glory,  blessed  Lord,  and  these  demons 
that  have  flocked  to  Wilmington  from  all  quarters  may  be  the 
scourgers  that  Thou  art  using  to  bring  us  closer  to  Thee.  Hear, 
O  Lord,  the  groans  and  cries  of  the  widows  and  orphans  of  the 
slaughtered  ones;  men  who  gave  up  their  lives  in  the  feeble  efforts 
to  defend  their  homes  and  firesides.  (Do,  Lord.)  Bless  Brother 
Silkirk  and  his  little  family  (Amen),  who  are  about  to  start  upon  a 
perilous  journey.  The  way  is  beset  by  demons  thirsting  for  his 
blood.  (Lord,  help.)  But  he's  in  Thy  hands,  and  Thou  canst 
save  him  and  save  us  from  further  persecution,  if  it  be  Thy  will. 
Amen!'' 

Rev.  Silkirk  was  visibly  moved  by  this  earnest  and  pathetic 
plea.  He  thanked  the  petitioner  and  the  entire  church  for  their 
solicitude.  He  was 'dissuaded  from  attempting  to  take  his  wife 
and  little  ones  with  him  on  his  perilous  journey,  and  they  were 
left  in  care  of  friends  until  an  opportune  season  presented  itself. 
The  parting  between  that  good  man  and  his  wife  and  friends  was 
indeed  touching.  A  substantial  bank  note  was  hurriedly  thrust 
into  his  hand,  and,  with  two  deacons,  he  stepped  out  into  the 
darkness  and  disappeared. 


When  the  North-bound  passenger  train  leaving  Wilmington 
at  12. 01  slowed  up  at  Castle  Hayne  on  the  morning  of  the  12th 
of  November  a  wretched-looking  Negro  minister  stepped  aboard. 
The  trains  had  for  two  days  been  leaving  the  city  ladened  with 
undesirable  citizens,  white  and  black,  and  the  trainmen  had  been 
earnest  abettors  in  the  injury  and  insult  offered  them.  From  Wil- 
mington to  Weldon  at  every  stop  crowds  waited  to  do  injury,  if 
possible,  to  "Nigger"  and  radical  refugees.  Thomas  Miller,  Aria 
Bryant  and  other  citizens  had  been  taken  off  and  jailed  at  Golds- 
bor-o,  and  one  man  in  trying  to  escape  was  shot  to  death. 

The  Rev.  Silkirk  did  not  feel  very  comfortable  under  the  search- 
ing eye  of  the  conductor  who  lifted  his  fare,  and  that  individual's 


102  THE  FLIGHT  OF  REV.  SELKIRK. 

refusal  to  give  satisfactory  answers  to  inquiries  concerning  con- 
nections at  Rocky  Mount  increased  his  feeling  of  uneasiness.  He 
felt  assured  that  failing  to  capture  him  in  the  woods,  his  would-be 
murderers  had  telegraphed  his  description,  etc.,  along  the  road. 
At  Dudley  Station  two  men  came  into  the  smoker  and  took  seats 
immediately  in  front  of  him,  and  continued  the  discussion  of  the 
topic  which  doubtless  absorbed  their  minds  before  entering. 
I  was  saying,"  said  one,  an  elderly  man,  with  quite  a  refined  ap- 
pearance, "that  impertinent  article  by  that  Negro  preacher  was 
equally  as  spicy  as  the  editorial,  and  as  the  editor  took  time  by 
the  forelock  and  made  good  his  escape,  the  determination  was  to 
make  sure  of  this  preacher.  But  he  was  warned  in  time  to  get 
out,  and  the  impression  is  that  he  was  warned  by  a  white  man." 
"Shame,"  said  the  other,  slapping  his  knee  vigorously.  "He  got 
away,  then."  "Yes,  but  it's  likely  he'll  sneak  back  before  taking 
final  leave,  as  he  has  a  family  there,  and  they  are  on  the  lookout 
for  him;  besides,  the  boys  have  been  notified  along  the  road  to 
be  on  the  lookout."  "What's  his  name?"  "Silkirk;  he  is  er  Bos- 
ton darkey,  an'  doubtless  is  heading  for  that  place,  as  Southern 
climate  has  got  too  hot  for  "im." 

"Goldsboro!  Change  cars  for  Newbern,"  shouted  the  porter. 
"Well,  good-bye!"  said  the  genteel  man,  rising  and  making  a  bolt 
for  the  door.  As  the  train  slowly  clanged  its  way  through  the 
old  town  the  remaining  passenger  settled  himself  back  in  the  seat 
and  went  to  sleep. 

Several  men  passed  through  the  train,  the  conductor  in  the 
lead.  Each  man  slyly  glanced  at  the  minister,  but  said  nothing. 
The  train  sped  on  its  way  through  the  town. 

Now,  Wilson  is  the  place  where  through  passengers  change 
cars  and  board  North-bound  trains  from  the  far  South.  Wilson 
for  the  past  few  days  had  been  the  rendezvous  for  a  well-organ- 
ized vigilance  committee,  who  had  vied  with  the  ruffians  at  Golds- 
boro in  offering  violence  to  citizens  driven  out  of  Wilmington. 
The  leader  of  this  gang  was  a  young  farmer  by  the  name  of  Bull. 
That  afternoon  Mr.  Bull  and  quite  a  number  of  his  fellow-com- 
mitteemen  sat  on  the  steps  of  the  railroad  station  whittling  sticks 
when  the  station  operator  came  up  and  handed  him  a  telegram, 
Which  ran  as  follows:  "Goldsboro — Man  on  train  78  answering 
description  of  Silkirk.    Look  out  for  him.    Barnet." 

"By  Joe!"  exclaimed  Captain  Bull,  jumping  to  his  feet.  "Well, 
what's  up?"  asked  three  or  four  of  his  companions,  gathering 
around  the  leader.    "Nothing,  only  that  Boston  black  Yankee  is 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  REV.  SELKIRK.  103 

on  train  78,  an'  he  mustn't  git  any  further  'an  Wilson,  that's  all," 
returned  Bull.  "Go,  Buxton,"  he  said  to  a  sallow-faced  young 
man  leaning  against  the  wall,  "an'  tell  the  boys  ter  git  ready  for 
er  feast  ter  night.  That  Nigger  editor  slipped  through"  like 
grease,  an'  ef  we  let  this  Nigger  do  so  we  all  uns  ought  ter  be 
gibbited.  We  want  er  be  ready  ter  mount  the  train  time  she 
stops.  I've  got  no  description  of  the  man,  but,  then,  its  no  hard 
tas'  to  pick  out  er  preacher  from  the  tother  uns."  With  that  Cap- 
tain Bull  started  toward  home  to  get  his  gun,  and  the  crowd  dis- 
persed. 

At  Wilson  trains  usually  pause  at  the  water  tank,  a  few  yards 
below,  for  coal  and  water,  before  making  the  final  stop  at  the 
station.  Just  as  train  78  paused  at  this  place,  a  colored  man  with 
a  buggy  whip  under  his  arm  got  aboard.  He  walked  briskly 
through  the  train,  scanning  the  faces  of  the  passengers  as  he- 
went.  "The'  ain't  but  one  colored  man  on  here,"  he  said,  as  he 
reached  the  door  of  the  smoking  car  and  looked  in.  Walking  up 
and  touching  this  man  on  the  shoulder,  he  said:  "Looker  here, 
mister,  you  goin'  North:1"  "I  want  to,"  returned  the  colored  pas- 
senger. "Well,  come  with  me  an'  get  somethin'  ter  eat  foe  you 
go;  you  look  like  you  hungry.  I  keep  er  resterant,  put  up  thar 
jes'  fer  my  people,  bekase  thar's  no  show  fer  'em  in  the  other 
place.  Come  on!  No  time  ter  be  los',  train  don't  stay  up  thar 
more  'an  twenty  minutes."  With  that  he  led  the  passenger  from 
the  train.  "Git  up  in  thar,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  small  wagon. 
"Got  er  trunk?"  "No,  just  this  bag,"  returned  the  other.  "Well, 
let's  go.  Git  up,  Nell,"  and  the  horse  started  off  in  a  brisk  trot. 
"Looker  here,  mister,  I  ain't  got  no  more  resterant  then  er 
dog.  Ain't  your  name  Silkirk?"  "That's  may  name,"  returned 
the  passenger  in  astonishment.  "I  knowed  it,"  said  the  driver.  "I 
got  on  that  train  ter  save  yer  life  ter  night.  Slower  dar,  Nell! 
This  road's  full  er  mud  holes  sence  the  big  rain  we  had  tother 
day.  I  jes'  happen  ter  that  depot  ter  day  jes'  in  time  ter  see  thet 
telegraph  when  hit  cum  an'  was  put  inter  Captain  Bull's  han". 
Sence  dem  riots  in  Wilmin'ton  he's  bin  er  getin'  telegraphs  an" 
sarchin'  trains,  an'  insultin'  women  an'  killin'  col'd  mens.  An'  I 
jes'  slied  erroun'  tell  I  hear  what  that  telegraph  say.  Hit  say, 
look  out  fer  Silkirk.  Thar's  er  gang  of  crackers  waitin'  ter  kill 
you  as  sho  es  yo'  er  bo'n;  but  Bob  Jones  is  goin'  ter  cheat  um  dis 
time.  Go  on  thar!"  "God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way,"  mur- 
mured the  minister,  slowly."  "You'll  bet  he  does.  Come,  gal, 
pick  um  up  an'  put  um  down;  thar's  no  time  ter  be  los'.    Gwine 


104  THE  FLIGHT  OF  REV.  SELKIRK. 

ter  take  yer  cross  de  country  here,  an'  put  yer  on  er  frate  train, 
an'  dat  train  gwine  take  yer  to  Norfolk,  for  yo'  sholy  ain't  safe 
on  dat  coas'  line  road.  Dis  is  what  we  call  throwin'  de  houn's  off 
de  scent.    Pure  Nigger  cunnin',  here  me?    Git  up,  Nell." 

It  was  near  the  midnight  hour  when  the  horse,  panting  for 
breath,  paused  at  a  lonely  rickety  old  station.  The  men  alighted. 
"Hit's  jes'  twenty  minutes  pas'  eleven,"  said  Bob  Jones  glancing 
at  his  watch,.  "Now  that  train's  comin'  long  here  in  er  few  min- 
utes. Jes'  git  er  board  an'  treat  de  Cap'n  right,  an'  he'll  put  yer 
through."  "God  bless  you  and  all  of  yours,"  said  the  minister, 
gratefully.  "My  people  in  Wilmington  and  Boston  must  know  of 
you  and  what  you  have  done  for  me  to-night."  "Dat's  all  right, 
parson,  keep  de  change.  Ise  jes'  doin'  my  duty,  that's  all.  We 
should  feel  each  other's  keer,  an'  bear  each  other's  cross,  says  de 
good  word.  Dar's  de  train  now!"  The  old  freight  train  panted 
slowly  up  and  stopped  to>  look  for  freight.  The  Rev.  Hiland  Sil- 
kirk,  with  tears  of  gratitude  in  his  eyes,  got  aboard,  and  the  tri- 
umphant Jehu  turned  his  horse  and  started  homeward. 

"Well  done,  good  and  faithful  servant,  forasmuch  as  you  have 
done  good  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  you  have 
done  it  unto  me." 


CAPTAIN  NICHOLAS  McDUFFY.  105 


CHAPTER    XIV. 


Captain  Nicholas  McDuffy. 

Before  the  introduction  of  the  improved  method  of  fire  fighting 
in  Southern  cities — before  the  steam  engine,  the  hook  and  ladder 
and  water  tower  companies  supplanted  the  old  hand  pump  and 
bucket  companies,  the  Negro  was  the  chief  fire  fighter,  and  there 
was  nothing  that  tended  more  to  make  fire  fighting  a  pleasant 
pastime  than  those  old  volunteer  organizations.  For  man}-  years 
after  the  war  Wilmington  was  supplied  with  water  for  the  putting 
out  of  fires  b}-'  means  of  cisterns  which  were  built  in  the  centre 
of  streets.  When  the  old  bell  in  the  market  house  tower  sounded 
the  alarm  of  fire,  the  volunteers  left  their  work  and  hastened  to 
headquarters  to  drag  forth  the  old  hand  pump  and  make  for  the 
cistern  nearest  the  scene  of  the  fire,  where,  keeping  time  to  the 
tune  of  some  lively  song,  they  pumped  the  fire  out.  There  was 
peculiar  sweetness  in  those  old  songs  which  made  fire  fighting  a 
fascinating  pastime  in  those  old  days.  While  a  few  men  span- 
ncred  the  hose,  directed  the  stream  and  did  the  work  of  rescuing 
and  saving  furniture,  etc.,  the  majority  were  required  to  man  the 
pumps.  Thirty  or  forty  men  in  brilliant  uniform  lined  up  on 
either  side  of  the  huge  engine,  tugging  away  at  the  great  horizon- 
tal handles,  presented  a  spectacle  which  no  one  even  in  these  days 
of  advancement  would  despise.     And  the  singing! 

"O  Lindy,  Lindy  my  dear  honey, 
Lindy,  gal,  I'm  boun'  to  go; 
O  Lindy,  Lindy  my  dear  honey, 
O  Lindy,  gal,  I'm  boun'  to  go,"  etc. 

A  few  lines  of  another: 

''The  cows  in  de  ole  field,  don't  yo'  hear  de  bell? 
Let  her  go,  let  her  go. 
The  cows  in  de  ole  field,  don't  yo'  hear  de  bell? 
Let  her  go,  let  her  go,"  etc. 


10(i  CAPTAIN  NICHOLAS  McDUFFY. 

But  the  things  that  will  make  those  old  organizations  live  long- 
est in  the  memory  are  their  frolics,  excursions  and  picnics,  full  of 
all  that  appealed  to  the  appetite  for  pleasure  and  excitement. 
There  the  dancer,  the  fighter,  the  runner,  the  wrestler,  could  in- 
dulge freely  in  his  favorite  pastime;  there  old  scores  could  be  set- 
tled and  new  ones  made.  The  most  noteworthy  and  serviceable 
of  those  old  volunteer  organizations  was  the  old  "Brooklyn  No. 
4,"  which  guarded  that  portion  of  the  city  known  by  that  name. 
No.  2,  in  the  middle  section,  and  the  "Old  No.  3  Double  Deck," 
in  the  southern  part  of  the  city.  These  old-fashioned  machines 
have  given  place  to  the  modern  fire  fighter,  the  steam  engine. 
But  of  all  of  these  banished  organizations,  No.  3  will  be  the  long- 
est remembered.  Upon  her  roll  were  the  names  of  some  of  Wil- 
mington's best  citizens.  In  the  year  1873  this  company,  too  ser- 
viceable to  be  disbanded,  was  reorganized  under  the  name  of 
"Cape  Fear  Engine  Company,"  and  presented  by  the  city  with  a 
handsome  steam  engine  of  that  name.  And  although  the  Ger- 
mans had  replaced  their  hand  pump  by  costly  steamer,  and  a 
company  had  been  organized  among  the  aristocracy,  this  colored 
company  kept  and  maintained  the  reputation  of  being  the  best 
fire  fighters  in  the  city,  and  second  to  none  in  the  entire  State. 
Upon  the  walls  of  their  engine  house  hung  trophies  for  superior 
firemanship  won  in  nearly  every  city  in  the  State.  The  insurance 
companies  of  the  city  recognized  their  value  as  savers  of  property, 
and  upon, more  than  one  occasion  made  them  valuable  presents. 
Only  men  of  good  repute  who  could  "stand  the  gaze  of  an  honest 
eye"  were  eligible  to  membership  in  the  Cape  Fear  Fire  Com- 
pany, and  he  who  aspired  to  leadership  must  be  efficient  both  in 
character  and  experience  as  a  fire  fighter.  I  write  the  above  that 
the  reader  may  know  what  manner  of  man  this  was  who  was 
compelled  to  leave  his  home,  his  wife  and  little  ones  and  flee  for 
his  life.  Captain  Nicholas  McDuffy  was  at  one  time  foreman 
of  the  Cape  Fear  Engine  Company.  McDuffy  came  to  Wilming- 
ton a  rough  country  lad,  secured  employment,  went  to  work, 
saved  his  money,  bought  property  and  became  a  citizen  of  note 
and  respectability.  He  joined  the  engine  company  and  rose  like  a 
meteor  to  its  foremost  rank.  The  relations  between  the  races  in 
the  South  have  always  been  such"  that  it  requires  a  Negro  of 
Spartan  courage  to  face  a  white  man  and  return  blow  for  blow,  it 
matters  not  how  righteous  may  be  his  cause.  Captain  Nicholas 
McDuffy  was  a  man  without  fear.  Two  or  three  years  ago,  while 
a  member  of  the  police  force  of  Wilmington,  it  became  his  duty 


captain  Nicholas  mcduffy.  io7 

to  arrest  some  white  roughs  for  disorderly  conduct.  It  was  a 
hazardous  undertaking-,  but  McDuffy  waded  in  and  landed  his 
men,  but  it  cost  him  dear.  His  body  was  so  hacked  by  knife 
thrusts  that  he  was  compelled  to  go  to  the  hospital  for  repairs. 
Generally  policemen  are  commended  and  rewarded  for  such 
heroic  deeds,  but  this  placed  the  name  of  Nicholas  McDuffy  upon 
the  death  list.  A  Xegro  officer  must  not  presume  to  arrest  a 
white  man.  There  were,  however,  white  men  who  admired  Mc- 
Duffy for  his  frankness  and  courage,  and  when  the  riotous  ex- 
citement was  at  its  height  and  the  assassins  were  seeking  here 
and  there  for  victims,  one  of  these  true  men  warned  McDuffy 
just  in  time  to  get  into  the  swamp  before  a  mob  surrounded  his 
house.  They  pursued  him,  however,  but  by  swimming  a  creek 
not  far  from  the  city's  limit  he  escaped  their  bullets,  and  without 
coat  or  hat  made  his  way  to  New  Berne.  His  poor  wife  and  chil- 
dren were  left  to  the  mercy  of  the  mob,  who  drove  them  forth 
and  burned  the  house  behind  them. 


TEMPTING   NEGROES  TO  RETURN. 


CHAPTER    XV. 


Tempting  Negroes  to  Return. 

Wilmington  Officials  Scouring  the  Woods  for  Refugees — Want 

Them  to  Return  and  Go  to  Work. 
Special  to  The  World. 

Wilmington,  N.  C,  Nov.  13. — Affairs  are  settling  down  to  their 
normal  condition  here.  Chief  of  Police  Edgar  G.  Parmle  and 
several  representatives  of  the  new  city  government  drove  out 
ten  miles  on  the  various  roads  leading  from  the  citv  to-day,  to 
induce  the  refugee  Negroes  to  come  back. 

City  officials  also  attended  the  colored  churches  and  urged 
the  pastors  and  their  people  to  go  into  the  woods  to  induce  the 
frightened  Negroes  to  return  and  resume  their  work. 

The  pastors  of  the  white  churches  referred  to  the  not  in  their 
sermons  to-day.  The  'burden  of  the  discourses  was  that  the  strug- 
gle at  the  polls  Tuesday  was  for  liberty,  decency,  honesty  and 
right;  that  it  was  not  so  much  the  drawing  of  the  color  line  as 
a  contest  for  the  supremacy  of  intelligence  and  competence  over 
ignorance,  incompetence  and  debauchery. 

Dr.  Hoge,  pastor  of  the  First  Presbyterian  Church,  who  re- 
cently preached  in  the  Fifth  Avenue  Presbyterian  Church,  New 
York,  and  was  mentioned  as  Dr.  Hall's  successor,  took  as  his 
text:  "He  that  ruleth  his  spirit  is  better  than  he  that  taketh  a 
city." 

"We  have  done  both,"  he  said.  "We  have  taken  a  city.  That 
is  much,  but  it  is  more  because  it  is  our  own  city  that  we  have 
taken." 

Dr.  Hoge  justified  the  movement  which  led  to  the  change  of 
ijovcrnment. 


AT  MRS.  MclvANE'S.  109 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


At  Mrs.   Mcl/atie's. 

It  was  Thanksgiving  Day.  The  political  storm  increased  ten- 
fold in  velocity  and  destrnctiveness  by  race  hatred  that  had  swept 
through  the  old  city  of  Wilmington,  devastating  hom-es,  leaving 
orphans,  widows  and  ruined  fortunes  in  its  wake,  was  slowly 
abating.  A  city  in  a  state  of  siege  could  not  have  presented  a 
more  distressing  appearance.  Soldiers  and  armed  white  men  and 
boys  stood  in  groups  on  every  street  ready  to  pounce  upon  and 
disperse  any  assemblage  of  black  citizens  upon  the  streets.  The 
ringing  of  church  bells,  the  call  to  praise  onlv  served  to  intensify 
the  fear  of  colored  worshippers  whose  meetings  had  been  pre- 
viously broken  up  by  armed  mobs.  These  dusky  worshippers, 
devout  as  they  were,  had  not  the  faith  sufficient  to  enable  them 
to  discern  the  smiling  face  of  God  through  the  clouds  which  hung 
over  them.  Demoralized,  dejected,  disconsolate,  they  dodged 
about  here  and  there  like  sheep  having  no  shepherd.  Just  as  the 
bell  in  the  tall  steeple  of  the  old  Baptist  Church  on  Market  street 
was  making  its  last  long  and  measured  peals  there  crept  out  from 
behind  the  old  Marine  Hospital  a  woman  leading  a  little  child  by 
the  hand.  Both  were  wretchedly  clad.  Thrown  about  the  wom- 
an's shoulders  was  an  old  quilt.  Her  shoes  were  tied  with  strings, 
which  were  wrapped  around  the  soles  to  keep  from  leaving  her 
feet.  Her  skirt,  tattered  and  torn,  hung  dejectedly  about  her 
scant  form.  The  child,  barefooted  and  with  only  one  piece  to 
hide  its  nakedness,  dodged  behind  its  mother  as  it  walked  to  keep 
the  wind  from  striking  with  its  full  force  its  emaciated  bodv.  The 
woman,  though  young  in  years,  was  old  and  haggard  in  face. 
Her  woolly  hair,  unkempt  and  sprinkled  with  gray,  the  result  of 
just  three  weeks  of  privation,  apprehension  and  dread,  bulged  out 
from  beneath  the  old  shawl  which  covered  her  head.  At  the 
northwest  corner  of  the  hospital  fence  she  paused,  looked  cheer- 
fully toward  her  own  cottage,  but  a  few  blocks  away,  then  slowly 


110  AT  MRS.  McLANK  S. 

walked  on  in  that  direction,  the  child  toddling  at  her  side.  "What 
is  the  hells  ringin'  for,  mamma?"  asked  the  little  one.  "It  ain't 
Sunday."  "It's  Thanksgiving  Day,  and.  we  usually  go  to  church 
on  that  day,"  answered  the  mother,  slowly.  "What  is  Thanksgiv- 
ing Day?"  "It  is  a  day  set  apart  by  the  President  for  the  people 
to  assemble  and  give  thanks  for — for — blessings — received  during 
the  year,  my  child."  This  last  answer  tore  that  disconsolate 
mother's  heart  till  it  bled.  She  had  reached  the  gate  of  her  cot- 
tage, from  which  she  had  fled  on  the  night  of  November  ioth  to 
escape  insult  and  murder.  A  white  woman  sat  upon  the  steps 
knitting,  her  children  playing  about  the  yard.  The  colored  wom- 
an stood  and  momentarily  gazed  in  amazement  at  the  intruder 
upon  her  premises.  "Well,  whart  du  you  wannt?"  said  the  white 
one,  looking  up  from  her  work  and  then  down  again.  "What  do 
I  want?"  returned  the  colored  one.  "That's  the  question  for  me 
to  ask.  What  are  you  doing  in  my  house?"  "Your  house?" 
"Yes,  my  house!"  "Niggers  don't  own  houses  in  dis  here  town 
no  mo';  white  uns  air  rulin'  now."  was  the  saucy  response.  "We 
uns  air  in  these  houses,  an'  we  air  goin'  ter  stay  in  um.  An'  mo'n 
thct;  them's  ther  Mair's  orders."  "You  poor  white  trash;  I  work- 
ed hard  for  this  house,  and  hold  the  deed  for  it,  so  you  get  out!" 
So  saying,  she  caught  hold  of  the  latch.  The  white  woman  rush- 
er! to  the  corner  of  the  fence  and  screamed  "Police!"  at  the  top 
of  her  voice. 

"Well,  what's  ther  mater  here?"  asked  one  of  the  four  men 
who  came  running  up  in  response  to  the  woman's  call.  "This 
nigger  cuius  here  ter  purt  me  out  er  this  house."  "This  is  my 
house!"  broke  in  the  other.  "My  house,"  repeated  the  man,  with 
a  sneer.  Pocession  is  nine-tents  er  th'  law.  She's  in,  you  air  out, 
so  git."  Several  colored  people  had  responded  to  the  call,  most 
of  them  women.  "Come,  Eliza,"  said  one,  putting  her  arms  affec- 
tionately about  the  wretched  and  angry  woman's  waist,  while  an- 
other took  the  little  one  in  her  arms.  "It's  no  use  to  waste  words; 
we  all  have  suffered  at  the  hands  of  these  superior  (?)  people. 
But  God  will  give  the  wrong-doer  his  reward  in  due  season. 
Come  with  us,  my  dear,  and  wait  patiently."  All  my  nice  furni- 
ture being  ruined  by  this  dirty  cracker,  and  I  can  do  nothing  to 
prevent  it,"  sobbed  Eliza,  struggling  to  free  herself  that  she  might 
fly  at  the  throat  of  the  intruder,  who  stood  glaring  at  her  in  tri- 
umph, 

"Take  her  er  long,"  said  the  white  bully,  or  T'll  lock  her  up. 
The  time  [er  Niggers  ter  sass  white  fo'ks  is  past  in  Wilmington." 


AT  MRS.  McLANE'S.  Ill 

"Come,  Eliza;  that's  a  good  woman."    The  woman  walked  re- 
ictantlv  away,  to  be  cared  for  by  her  neighbors. 


That  evening  at  about  dusk  Airs.  McLane,  an  old  and  wealth}' 
white  citizen,  stood  at  the  window  of  her  palatial  dwelling  on 
Third  street  watching  the  twilight  fade — watching  the  Thanks- 
giving Day  of  1898  slowly  die.  Mrs.  McLane  had  not  attended 
church ;  she  felt  more  like  hiding  away  from  the  world  to  be  alone 
with  God.  In  her  devotions  that  morning  she  had  cried  out  with 
all  the  fervency  of  her  soul  that  God  would  turn  away  his  anger 
from  a  people  with  whom  He  was  justly  displeased. 

"My  people  are  to-day  imbued  with  the  feeling  of  boastfuLiess 
in  their  own  strength  rather  than  thankfulness  to  God.  tor  can 
any  of  us  feel  that  God  has  countenanced  the  murder,  pillage  and 
intimidation  which  the  whites  of  Wilmington  have  resorted  to? 
And  for  what?"  Thus  she  soliloquized  as  she  watched  the  day 
die.  The  clock  in  the  old  Presbyterian  Church  slowly  chimed 
the  hour  of  six.  A  long  jingle  of  the  doorbell  awoke  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane from  her  reverie.  "Mrs.  Hill.  Mrs.  Bruce  and  Mrs.  Engel, 
Misses,"  said  a  servant,  slightly  pulling  the  door  ajar  and  push- 
ing her  head  in.  "All  right,  Margaret.  I'll  be  right  down,"  an- 
swered the  lady.  "Tell  Aunt  Su.-an  that  the  guests  I  expected  to 
tea  are  here."  "Yes  m'm."  The  servant  disappeared,  and  Mrs. 
McLane  slowly  descended  to  the  parlor.  "Why,  Marjorie!"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Bruce,  as  the  hostess  glided  into  the  parlor,  where 
the  three  women  sat  chatting.  "H*>w  could  you  stay  at  home 
from  church  on  such  a  lovely  day!  You  missed  a  treat,  you — " 
"Tea's  ready,  missis,"  said  Margaret,  appearing  suddenly  in  the 
parlor  door.  "Now,  ladies,  we  must  retire  to  the  dining  room 
and  let  conversation  aid  digestion;  remember  that  my  tea  has 
waited  until  half  an  hour  past  the  usual  time  for  you.  So,  without 
further  delay,  let  me  lead  the  way  to  tea,"  and  Mrs.  McLane  pro- 
ceeded to  the  dining  room,  followed  by  her  three  visitors.  "Well, 
from  Mrs.  Bruce's  exclamation  when  I  entered  a  while  ago  I 
must  infer  that  you  all  enjoyed  church  service  immensely." 
"Well,  I  should  say  so,"  promptly  answered  Mrs.  Bruce.  "I  don't 
see  how  any  one  could  have  remained  at  home  on  such  a  day  as 
this.  And.  you  know,  we  have  so  much  to  be  thankful  for.  Dr. 
Tose  quoted  for  his  text,  'He  that  is  slow  to  anger  is  better  than  1/ 
the  mighty,  and  he  that  controlleth  his  spirit  than  he  that  taketh 
a  city.5    'We  have  taken  a  city,'  said  he,  'our  city;  freed  it  from 


112  AT  MRS.  McLANES. 

ignorance  and  misrule.'  I,  for  one,  am  grateful  to  see  our  men 
have  so  nobly  shown  to  the  women  of  Wilmington  that  they  are 
worthy  of  our  loyalty  and  devotion.  I  said  to  my  husband,  after 
reading  that  infamous  and  slanderous  article  in  the  Record,  that 
our  men  were  too  pigeon-livered  to  take  that  Nigger  out  and 
give  him  what  he  deserves;  and  I  think  it  was  just  such  talk  from 
our  women  in  the  households  that  brought  about  this  revolution. 
Such  as  the  white  people  of  Wilmington  have  been  compelled  to 
resort  to  would  never  have  happened  had  the  good-for-nothing 
Yankee  left  the  black  where  he  belonged,  instead  of  wrenching 
him  from  his  master  and  then  educating  him  into  the  belief  that 
he  is  as  good  as  he  who  owned  him.  This  Manly  is  a  new  Nig- 
ger — a  product  of  Yankee  schools  and  colleges.  Freedom  and 
education  have  worked  only  harm  to  the  Negro  by  putting  high 
notions  into  his  head.  Blacks  of  Wilmington  have  had  more  sway 
than  was  for  their  good,  and  they  need  checking,  and  it  has  come 
at  last.  We  will  have  no  more  black  lawyers,  doctors,  editors  and 
so  forth,  taking  the  support  from  our  own  professional  men. 
And  no  more  such  disgraceful  scenes  as  we  have  been  compelled 
to  endure — well-dressed  Negro  women  flaunting  about  our  streets 
in  finery,  when  they  ought  to  be  in  their  places.  Why,  we  can't 
order  a  gown  or  bonnet,  but  what,  before  we  can  get  into  the 
street  with  it  on  our  backs,  some  Nigger  woman  flirts  by  with 
the  very  same  thing  on,  style,  material  and  all.  It  is  preposterous! 
How  I  have  burned  in  desire  to  jump  upon  them  and  tear  the 
things  off  and  flog  them,  as  they  deserve.  And  to  go  to  Seventh 
street  on  a  Sunday  or  on  a  week-day,  for  that  matter,  the  sight 
is  heart  sickening!  There  Sambo  and  his  woman,  dressed  to 
death,  strut  along  with  heads  erect,  looking  as  important  as 
though  they  owned  the  city,  or,  astride  their  bicycles,  they'll  ride 
plumb  over  you.  But  we  have  put  a  stop  to  Nigger  high-stepping 
for  a  while  at  least,  thanks  to  our  true  and  patriotic  men,  blue- 
blooded  Southern  gentlemen."  "And  our  boys,  who  did  so  no- 
bly!" chimed  in  Mrs.  Engel.  "Yes!  yes!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bruce, 
with  a  triumphant  laugh.  "How  full  of  zeal  and  love  for  home 
and  country  they  are!  Tt  was  indeed  charming  to  see  them  hold 
up  big,  burly  blacks  and  make  them  stand  until  bidden  to  pass  on. 
One  i-f  the  most  amusing  and  gratifying  sights  was  the  holding 
up  of  a  big  Nigger  woman,  right  in  front  of  my  gate.  She  reared 
and  charged,  but  to  no  purpose;  those  boys  made  her  shake  her 
duds.  They  pulled  her  clothes  almost  off  her  back  trying  to  make 
her  >tand  until  searched."    "And  you  didn't  protest  against  such 


AT  MRS.  McLANE'S.  113 

ungallant  treatment  of  a  woman,  and  by  mere  lads?"  asked  Mrs. 
McLane.  "Protest!  Why.  Marjorie  McLane!  You  must  not, 
my  dear,  allow  yourself  to  think  of  such  creatures  as  women 
entitled  to  such  consideration  as  is  due  white  women.  How  did 
I  know  but  what  that  creature  had  set  out  to  burn  some  lady's 
dwelling.  Protest?  Xo!  decidedly  no!  I  just  stood  there  and 
enjoyed  the  fun.  I  am  afraid  you  are  too  full  of  Yankeeism,  Mar- 
jorie. You  should  be  thankful  that  our  enemies  are  vanquished. 
When  Colonel  Moss  reached  Dry  Pond,  instead  of  showing  fight 
and  standing  by  their  editor,  whom  they  upheld  in  slandering 
white  women,  they  scampered  to  the  woods."  "And  the  poor 
frightened  creatures  are  still  there.  They  cannot  be  induced  to 
return,  and  the  suffering  among  them  is  intense.  Mothers  have 
given  birth  out  there,  and  they  and  their  offspring  have  died  from 
exposure."  "Poor  creatures!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Engel.  "God  pity 
them  and  us!"  continued  Mrs.  McLane.  "If  what  has  been  done 
in  Wilmington  within  the  last  few  days  is  the  work  of  gentlemen, 
then  in  the  name  of  God  let  us  have  a  few  men  in  Wilmington,  if 
such  can  be  found."  "But,  my  dear — "  "Don't  interrupt  me. 
Mrs.  Bruce!  Hear  me  through,"  said  Mrs.  McLane.  raising  her 
voice.  "May  the  groans  of  these  suffering  women  and  children 
ever  ring  in  the  ears  of  Colonels  Moss  and  Wade,  and  may  the 
spirits  of  their  murdered  victims  unrelentingly  pursue  them 
through  the  regions  of  hell."  "Marjorie  McLane!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Bruce,  in  astonishment.  "Such  langauge  from  a  Southern 
ladv!"  said  Mrs.  Hill.  ''Yes,  a  Southern  lady  clothed  in  her  right 
mind,"  returned  the  hostess.  "These  men  in  their  blind  zeal  to 
restore  white  supremacy,  and  to  defend  women,  have  unmistak- 
ably demonstrated  their  weakness.  White  supremacy  cannot  be 
maintained  bv  resorting  to  brute  force,  neither  can  the  women 
of  one  race  be  protected  and  defended  while  the  defender  of  vir- 
tue looks  upon  the  destruction  of  the  other  race  as  only  an  indis- 
cretion. 

"Thou  must  be  true  thyself 

If  thou  the  truth  wouldst  teach. 
Thy  soul  must  overflow 

If  thou  another's  soul  would  reach.' 

"Enduring  supremacy,  the  supremacy  that  will  be  acknowl- 
edged is  supremacy  of  character,  supremacy  of  deportment,  su- 
premacv  in  justice  and  fair  play.  We  have  irreparably  lost  our 
hold  upon  the  Xegro  because  we  lack  these  attributes.  We  must 
not  allow  ourselves  to  feel  that  the  Xegro  in  this  enlightened  age 
is  incapable  of  knowing  and  appreciating  true  manhood  and  true 


114  AT  MRS.  McLANE'S. 

gallantry.  To  shoot  men  after  they  have  been  totally  disarmed, 
and  after  they  have  surrendered  everything  as  a  peace  offering  is 
cowardice  without  parallel. 

"What  would  Lee  and  Jackson  have  said  should  their  departed 
spirits  return  to  gaze  upon  men  who  so  bravely  followed  them 
through  the  wilderness,  in  perilous  times,  leading  in  such  dastard- 
ly work  as  was  done  in  Wilmington  on  the  ioth  of  November? 
'Whatsoever  a  man  soweth  that  shall  he  also  reap.'  It  is  not  in 
future  fires  that  men  are  to  get  the  reward  for  their  doings,  but 
here  in  this  life.  Our  fathers  have  sowed  the  seeds  that  are 
sprung  up  now  in  race  troubles  and  discord.  The  North  was  first 
to  seethe  danger,  and  gave  the  warning;  but  we  blindly  plunged 
into  four  years  of  bitter  strife,  to  maintain  what  we  thought  was 
our  right.  The  troubles  through  which  we  are  passing  are  the 
reaping  of  the  fruits  of  the  sowing  of  our  fathers.  The  conduct 
of  our  people  on  the  ioth  of  November  shows  plainly  to  my  mind 
that  we  are  making  the  same  mistakes.  We  are  foolish  enough  to 
sow  that  which  will  cause  the  harvester  to  curse  us  in  his  misery. 
Here  were  boys  not  over  twelve  years  of  age  armed  and  licensed 
to  insult  women,  tear  their  clothes  from  them  and  humiliate 
them."  ''Humiliate  them!"  echoed  Mrs.  Bruce,  with  a  sneer,  "as 
though  such  creatures  could  be  humiliated.  They  are  entitled  to 
no  respect  from  white  men."  "And  we  should  not  allow  ourselves 
to  think  of  them-  as  women  with  the  same  feelings  and  propensi- 
ties that  we  have,"  said  Mrs.  Engel.  "I  say,"  continued  Mrs.  Ale- 
Lane,  "that  the  Negro  woman  should  be  considered  a  woman  in 
the  fullest  sense  of  the  term,  and  those  men  and  boys  who  in  their 
zeal  to  protect  white  women  humiliated  and  disgraced  black  ones, 
insulted  and  humbled  their  own  mothers,  sisters  and  sweethearts: 
for  what  disgraces  one  woman  disgraces  another,  be  she  white, 
black,  red  or  brown.  We,  the  white  people  of  the  South,  have 
acknowledged  the  black  woman's  right  to  all  the  sympathy  that 
we  ourselves  may  expect.  She  has  carried  us  in  her  arms  and 
suckled  us  at  her  breast,  and  in  thousands  of  instances  her  word 
has  been  the  only  law  among  our  children  in  our  nurseries.  She 
heard  and  faithfully  kept  the  secrets  of  our  lives.  We  sought  her 
advice,  and  believed  in  the  efficacy  of  her  prayers."  "Now,  Mar- 
jorie,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Bruce,  "that  such  Negro  women  are 
still  dear  to  us;  these  old  mammies  and  uncles  who  know  and 
keep  in  their  places  are  never  troubled  in  the  South.  The  Yankee 
did  us  a  great  injury  by  lifting  the  Negro  out  of  his  place,  and 
making  him  feel  that  he  is  as  good  as  we  are.    It  is  this  new  \ig- 


AT  MRS.  McLANE'S.  115 

ger  that  is  causing  all  the  trouble.  The  black  woman,  allowed  to 
dress  and  flaunt  about  illures,  tempts  and  often  robs  our  domestic 
life  of  its  sweetness,  while  the  black  man,  with  the  wrong  concep- 
tion of  freedom,  often  makes  it  impossible  for  our  men  to  leave 
their  homes  unguarded."  "Bah!  away  with  such  nonsensical 
babbling!  You  are  saying,  Mrs.  Bruce,  that  which  down  in  your 
innermost  soul  you  do  not  believe.  Such  talk  as  that  has  given 
Southern  women  undesirable  notoriety,  and  is  making  the  world 
believe  that  to  keep  us  pure  it  costs  yearly  hundreds  of  ignomin- 
ious human  sacrifices,  a  thing  that  we  should  rise  up  and  brand  as 
a  lie!  Who  is  to  guard  the  home  of  the  Negro  man?  Can  we 
look  around  Wilmington  and  believe  that  his  home  does  not  need 
a  stronger  arsenal  than  ours?  While  we  are  boiling  over  with 
sympathy  for  Mrs.  Hartright,  do  we  think  for  a  moment  of  the 
bumble  home  of  that  Negro  father  made  unhappy  by  Mr.  Hart- 
riglt?  Do  we  feel  pity  for  Dan  Hawes,  John  Maxim,  Charlotte 
Jones?  The  Negro  no  longer  feels  that  the  appearance  of  a  white 
illegitimate  among  his  honestly  begotten  piccaninnies  is  an  honor 
bestowed  upon  his  household.  Charlotte's  case  was  indeed  a  sad 
one.  No  one  knows  better  than  I  what  a  heavy  heart  she  carried 
after  her  favorite  child,  the  one  she  had  taken  such  pains  to  edu- 
cate, and  from  whom  she  expected  so  much,  fell  a  victim  to  the 
flatteries  of  a  Jew."  "Well,  must  white  women  stop  to  lament 
over  such  things?"  asked  Mrs.  Hill.  "Are  we  to  blame  for  the 
shortcomings  of  these  people?"  "Yes,"  answered  the  hostess. 
"We  have  looked  on  unmoved  and  beheld  our  sister  in  black  shorn 
of  al!  protection  by  the  laws  upon  the  State  books  of  every  South- 
ern State,  that  she  may  be  humiliated  with  impunity,  and  we  have 
gloried  in  her  shame. 

"Harriet  Beecher  Stowe's  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  is  no  exag- 
geration. Simon  Legree  stalks  abroad  unrebuked  in  the  South, 
and  Cassies  with  sad  stories  of  betrayal  and  humiliation  are  plen- 
tiful." "I  do  not  think  it  possible  to  better  the  black  woman 
morally,"  said  Mrs.  Hill.  "The  germs  of  high  and  lofty  thought 
are  not  in  her,  that  is  certain."  "Have  you  ever  tried  to  put  that 
theory  to  a  test?"  asked  Mrs.  McLane  sharply.  "I  cant  say  that 
I  have,"  returned  Mrs.  Hill  slowly.  "If  the  Negro  is  morally  low, 
we  are  ourselves  responsible,  and'  God  will  call  us  to  account  for 
it.  In  our  greed  for  gain  we  stifled  every  good  impulse,  fos- 
tered and  encouraged  immorality  and  unholy  living  among  our 
slaves  by  disregarding  the  sacredness  of  the  marriage  relation. 
'That  which  God  hath  joined  together  let  no  man  put  asunder!' 


116  AT  MRS.  McLANb'S.  OO 

We  have  done  that.  We  have  made  a  discord  in  the  sweetest 
music  that  ever  thrilled  the  human  heart — the  music  of  love.  I 
believe  that  there  is  that  pathos,  that  true  poetry  in  Negro  love- 
making  that  no  other  race  possesses.  When  a  child  I  used  to 
love  to  listen  to  the  simple  and  yet  pathetic  pleading  of  the  Negro 
boy  for  the  hand  of  the  girl,  whom  to  protect  and  defend  he 
owned  not  himself.  My  very  heart  would  weep  when  I  pictured 
those  fond  hearts  torn  asunder  by  the  slave  trader.  I  could  see 
the  boy  far  away,  in  some  lonely  cornfield  in  Georgia,  pause, 
lean  upon  his  plow  and  sigh  for  his  lost  love  as  he  listened  to  the 
cooing  of  the  dove,  while  she,  far  away  in  Tennessee  or  in  some 
Virginia  cornfield  mournfully  sang  as  she  dropped  the  yellow 
corn. 

'Ebry  time  the  sun  goes  down 
I  hangs  ma  head  an'  cries.' 

Have  we  not  done  enough  to  a  forgiving  race?  The  case  of 
Richard  Holmes  is  a  strong  proof  of  the  Negroes'  high  and  lofty 
conception  of  purity  and  virtue,  and  had  he  been  a  white  man, 
his  actions  would  have  been  applauded  to  the  echo.  My  opin- 
ion is  that  just  so  long  as  the  safeguards  around  Negro  women 
are  so  weak,  so  long  as  the  laws  upon  the  statute  books  of  South- 
ern States  brand  her  as  a  harlot,  pure  or  impure,  and  keep  her 
outside  the  pale  of  pity  and  consideration,  just  so  long  will  our 
representatives  have  to  resort  to  miirder  and  intimidation  to  get 
to  Congress.  The  strength  of  any  race  rests  in  the  purity  of  its 
women,  and  when  the  womanhood  is  degraded,  the  life  blood  of 
a  race  is  sapped.  Should  we  be  disappointed  under  this  showing 
because  the  Negro  does  not  vo»e  with  us?  You  know  as  well 
as  I  that  the  Negro's  vote  was  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  trouble. 
And  we  will  always  have  trouble  as  long  as  the  destruction  of 
Negro  womanhood  is  only  an  indiscretion.  Mrs.  Fells,  of  Geor- 
gia shows  the  narrowness  of  her  soul  when  she  cries  aloud  for 
the  protection  of  white  women  in  isolated  sections  of  Georgia 
against  lustful  Negroes,  when  she  knows  perfectly  well  that  Negro 
girls  in  Georgia  need  the  same  protection  against  lustful  whites. 
A  woman  who  is  not  desirous  of  protecting  the  innocent  of  any 
race  is  insincere,  and  should  be  branded  as  a  hypocrite."  "Mrs. 
Fells  should  not  be  blamed  for  ignoring  Negro  women.  They 
are  all  fallen  creatures,"  said  Mrs.  Engle.  "That's  a  broad  asser- 
tion for  any  woman  to  make,  and  there's  no  white  woman  that 
believes  it  in  her  innermost  soul."  returned  Mrs.  McLane.  "The 
best  white  blood  of  the  South  flows  through  the  veins  of  Negroes, 


AT  MRS.  McLANE'S.  117 

and  this  reveals  the  unmistakable  weakness  of  a  superior  race."  * 
*  r  "The  weakness  of  the  men  of  a  superior  race!  Be  careful 
and  make  that  distinction,  Marjorie,"  said  Mrs.  Bruce.  "South- 
ern white  women  are  the  most  virtuous  women  in  the  world." 
"That's  the  general  boast,"  returned  Airs.  McLane.  "And  a  boast 
that  cannot  be  gainsaid,*'  said  Mrs.  Hill.  "Visiting  the  iniqui- 
ties of  the  fathers  upon  the  children  to  the  third  and  fourth  gen- 
eration," quoted  Mrs.  McLane  slowly.  "Do  you  believe  in  the 
truthfulness  of  God's  word?"  There  was  no  answer.  "You  all 
are  willing  to  admit  that  the  fathers  have  eaten  sour  grapes,  that 
the  sin  of  unlawful  inter-mixture  with  the  alien  is  the  fault  of 
the  men.  But  can  we  prove  that  the  taint  of  lust  in  the  blood  of 
the  fathers  has  come  down  through  the  generations  to  effect 
the  male  child  only,  and  leave  the  female  uncontaminated?  God 
has  not  so  ordained  it.  Our  men  sin  and  boast  in  it.  Consort- 
ing with  the  women  of  the  alien  race  to  them  is  only  an  indiscre- 
tion. While  even  to  acknowledge  that  in  the  Negro  man  are  the 
elements  of  genuine  manhood  would  make  a  Southern  white 
women  a  social  exile,  and  make  her  the  butt  of  ridicule.  Does 
not  this  account  for  the  human  sacrifices  that  have  shocked  the 
nation?  If  the  Negro's  life  is  cheap  and  a  frank  acknowledge- 
ment of  preference  for  him  means  so  much  to  her,  and  knowing 
that  her  word  is  judge  and  jury,  is  it  not  likely  that  she  would 
pursue  the  easiest  course?  The  passing  of  laws  since  the  war 
prohibiting  the  intermarriage  of  the  races  is  proof  that  the  men 
do  not  trust  us  as  implicitly  as  they  pretend.  The  lynchings 
and  burnings  that  are  daily  occurring  in  the  South  are  intended 
as  warnings  to  white  women  as  well  as  checks  to  Negro  men. 
Men  who  constitute  these  mobs  care  no  more  for  virtue  than  so 
many  beasts;  and  saying  that  they  are  composed  of  best  citi- 
zens does  not  alter  my  opinion.  Instead  of  going  about  as  Mrs. 
Tells  is  doing,  crying  for  more  of  the  blood  of  the  black  men, 
and  vilifying  defenseless  black  women  as  Mrs.  Harris,  of  that 
same  State  is  doing,  we  the  Southern  white  women  better  be 
doing  a  little  missionary  work  among  the  men  of  our  own  race. 
It  is  time  for  us  to  rise  up  and  let  our  voices  be  heard  against 
the  making  of  our  protection  an  excuse  for  crime.  Women 
like  Mrs.  Harris  have  done  nothing,  and  would  do  nothing  to 
better  the  condition  of  the  woman  whom  they  vilify.  Nathan 
said  unto  David:  'Thou  art  the  man.'  This  poor  wretch  will 
rise  up  in  the  judgment  and  cry  aloud  against  us  as  her  unnatural 
sisters  who  stood  upon  her  and  trampled  her  in  the  mud  and 


118  AT   MRS.  McLANE'S. 

mire.  As  inferior  and  morally  low  as  we  may  deem  her,  it  may 
be  more  tolerable  for  her  in  the  judgment  than  for  us.  I  won- 
der sometimes  how  the  black  woman  could  even  look  with  favor 
upon  the  man  who  to  her  has  been  and  is  a  sneaking  coward, 
as  well  as  a  hypocrite  in  conduct  toward  the  women  of  his  own 
race.  To  us  he  abuses  the  Negro  women,  makes  her  the  subject 
of  ridiculous  cartoons,  shows  her  up  before  the  world  as  a  beast 
with  his  lips  wet  with  kisses  from  her  mouth,  and  she  suckles  at 
her  breast  the  child  of  his  begetting."  "We  can't  afford  to  be 
too  plain  on  that  subject,  Marjorie,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Bruce. 
"Southern  women,  not  being  independent  and  self-supporting, 
like  our  Northern  sisters,  cannot  afford  to  call  the  men  to  ac- 
count, though  we,  some  of  us,  see  the  situation  just  as  you  have 
presented  it."  "But  I  for  one  will  speak  plainly,"  said  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane.  "Officer  Bunts,  instead  of  being  driven  from  the  city 
and  hung  in  effigy,  should  have  been  treated  differently,  because 
in  publicly  acknowledging  that  he  preferred  a  Negro  woman 
as  a  companion  he  showed  that  he  was  more  of  a  man  than  those 
who,  like  the  Pharisees,  rose  up  against  him.  If  we  as  parents 
should  refuse  to  give  our  daughters  in  marriage  to  men  who 
have  not  clandestinely  consorted  with  women  of  the  alien  race, 
how  many  could  hold  up  clean  hands?" 

She  who  comes  through  environments  of  temptation  unpro- 
tected from  the  assaults  of  the  devil  to  glory  and  immortality 
will  have  a  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory  than  she 
who  has  been  shut  in,  as  it  were,  by  the  walls  of  a  nunnery."  If 
we  could  have  kept  the  Negro  from  the  Bible,  kept  the  religion 
of  Jesus  Christ  out  of  his  heart,  the  massacre  of  November  ioth 
might  have  the  effect  that  those  who  planned  it  desired.  But 
such  demonstrations  of  barbarism  will  never  be  the  means  of 
vanquishing  a  trusting  people.  There's  my  cook,  Susan.  Her 
faith  is  simply  astonishing.  That  young  Negro  man  who  was 
shot  to  death  trying  to  escape  from  the  Naval  Reserves  who 
were  taking  him  from  his  home  and  family  was  her  son.  When 
my  son  read  the  news  to  her,  she  said  no  word,  there  was  no  sign 
of  distress  in  her  face,  but  I  could  see  that  her  heart  was  deeply 
moved.  She  arose  after  a  few  minutes'  silent  meditation,  then 
went  on  with  her  work.  That  evening  I  stole  up  to  her  room 
to  speak  a  comforting  word  to  her.  I  found  her  reading  her 
Bible.  She  took  off  her  glasses  and  wiped  the  water  from  her 
eyes  as  I  entered.  "I'm  jes'  layin'  hold  of  God's  promises,"  she 
said  with  a  smile.     "God  is  our  refuge  an'  strength  in  all  kinds 


AT  MRS.  McLANE'S.  119 

er  trouble,  Honey."  She  threw  her  arms  about  my  neck  and 
drew  me  down  beside  her,  and  pointing  to  a  verse  in  the  prayer 
of  Habakkuk  said:  "Read  it  loud,  Honey.  That's  whar  I  stan". 
'Although  the  fig  tree  shall  not  blossom,  neither  shall  fruit  be  in 
the  vines,  the  labor  of  the  olive  shall  fail,  and  the  fields  shall 
yield  no  meat.'  'The  flock  shall  be  cut  off  from  the  fold  and  there 
shall  be  no  herd  in  the  stalls.  Yet  will  I  rejoice  in  the  Lord,  I 
will  joy  in  the  God  of  my  salvation.'  These  are  her  sentiments." 
"This  demonstrates  the  strength  of  her  faith.  She  will  not  believe 
that  her  child  was  killed.  In  some  miraculous  way  he  must  have 
escaped,  and  will  some  day  come  to  her.  For  the  faith  of  the 
simple  Negro  woman  I  would  give  a  world."  It  was  near  the 
midnight  hour  when  Mrs.  McLane's  visitors  departed,  wiser 
>vonien  by  that  Thanksgiving  Day  visit,  we  hope. 


THE   COLONEL'S   REPENTANCE. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 


The  Colonel's  Repentance. 

The  riotous  excitement  was  slowly  abating  in  the  old  city. 
The  woods  were  full  of  panic-stricken,  starving  colored  people, 
and  trains  were  leaving  the  city  laden  with  those  who  had  means 
to  get  away.  The  leading  whites,  feeling  both  alarmed  at  and 
ashamed  of  the  havoc  and  misery  their  ambition  had  wrought, 
had  begun  to  send  men  into  the  woods  to  carry  food  to  the 
starving,  and  induce  them  to  return  to  the  city.  But  so  thor- 
oughly frightened  were  these  poor  refugees  that  the  sight  of 
white  faces  made  them  run  away  from  the  very  food  offered  them. 
The  ambassadors  came  back  to  the  city  disgusted,  and  dispatched 
colored  men,  who  were  more  successful.  It  was  the  evening  of 
the  15th  of  November.  Mr.  Julius  Kahn,  Eastern  North  Caro- 
lina's representative  of  the  Life  Insurance  Company  of  Virginia, 
sat  at  his  desk  in  his  office  on  Front  street.  This  company,  which 
had  been  giving,  for  a  small  weekly  payment,  quite  a  substantial 
and  satisfactory  death  benefit,  and  consequently  doing  quite  an 
enormous  business  among  the  poorer  classes  of  the  colored  peo- 
ple, were  among  the  heaviest  sufferers  from  the  massacre,  for 
some  of  the  collectors  had  been  pressed  into  the  service  of  the 
rioters  to  shoot  down,  and  intimidate  their  very  means  of 
support.  As  Mr.  Kahn  sat  there,  he  saw  nothing  but  absolute 
ruin  staring  him  in  the  face.  "Well,  what  news?"  he  asked  a  man 
who  stalked  in,  and  sank  heavily  into  a  chair.  The  man 
threw  his  book  upon  the  desk  before  him,  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders and  sighed  wearily.  "It's  useless,''  he  answered  finally.  "I 
give  it  up.  I  haven't  succeeded  in  getting  within  ten  yards  of  a 
nigger  woman  to-day.  If  I  went  in  at  the  front  door,  every  oc- 
cupant in  a  house  would  bolt  out  at  the  back  one,  and  run  for 
dear  life.  They  will  listen  to  no  overtures  of  friendship.  Our 
very  faces  fill  them  with  abject  terror.  We  had  just  as  well  throw 
up  the  insurance  business  and  quit,  as  far  as  Wilmington  is  con- 
cerned.    God's  curse  on  the  men  who  arc  responsible  for  this 


THfi   COLONEL'S  REPENTANCE.  121 

blight  upon  the  good  name  of  this  city.  One  woman  opened  her 
door,  cursed  me,  threw  her  book  at  me,  and  slammed  the  door 
in  my  face;  and  I  can't  blame  her,  for  she  saw  and  recognized 
me  among  the  mob  who  shot  her  husband  down  right  in  her 
gate.  And  God  knows  I  did  not  want  to  be  among  them,  but 
was  compelled  to.  And  they  say  that  old  devil,  after  usurping 
the  Mayoralty  of  the  city,  and  killing  and  driving  from  their 
homes  so  many  colored  people,  has  softened,  and  has  sent  out 
to  induce  the  wretches  to  return,"  said  Mr.  Kahn  after  a  long 
pause.  "Yes,"  returned  the  agent,  "but  that  won't  help  us.  They 
say  they've  lost  their  confidence  in  white  people.  Why,  you  have 
no  idea  what  a  wretched  state  of  things  I've  come  across.  The 
last  five  days'  experience  has  made  raving  maniacs  out  of  some 
of  the  niggers.  The  papers  have  announced  the  giving  out  of 
rations  at  the  City  Hall  to-morrow,  but  I  doubt  if  many  will  go  to 
get  them."  Mr.  Kahn  leaned  over,  rested  his  elbows  upon  the 
desk,  and  slowly  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair.  "Some  of  our 
men  left  the  city  before  they  would  be  mixed  up  in  this  affair, 
and  I  wish  now  that  I  had  done  the  same.  But,"  he  continued 
slowly,  "we  may  just  as  well  wait  until  all  excitement  is  at  an 
end  before  we  pull  up  stakes.  Other  blacks  will  doubtless  pour 
in  to  fill  the  places  of  those  that  are  going,  and  we  may  be  en- 
abled to  build  up  business."  "You  can  remain  and  wait,  Mr. 
Kahn,"  answered  the  agent  rising.  "This  accursed  town  can  no 
longer  hold  me.  I  leave  to-night  for  Richmond,  for  I  can  no 
longer  look  into  the  faces  of  the  people  whom  I  have  had  a  hand 
in  killing  and  terrorizing.  Good  bye,  Mr.  Kahn,"  and  the  col- 
lector was  gone. 


"Everybody  git  in  line  an'  pass  one  ba  one  before  ther  Mair 
an'  git  yer  permits;  fer  yer  can't  git  rations  thoughten  'urn," 
shouted  a  policeman  to  a  crowd  of  hungry  citizens  who  stood 
upon  the  steps  of  the  City  Hall.  "Git  in  thur  ole  Aunty  an'  wait 
yer  turn!"  to  an  old  lady,  who  started  to  leisurely  clinib  the  steps. 
The  Mayor  sat  at  his  desk,  which  had  been  placed  just  behind  the 
railing  in  the  court  room,  and  mildly  lectured  each  applicant  as 
he  or  she  came  up.  "This  state  of  affairs  is  terrible,  but  it's  your 
own  fault.  White  people  were  born  to  rule,  and  you  to  obey* 
We  liberated  you  and  we  can  re-enslave  you.  Freedom  and 
Yankee  advice  have  ruined  a  good  many  of  you.  What's  your 
name,  old  Aunty?"  he  asked  an  old  woman  who  came  limping 
up.     "Maria  Tapp'n,  marster,"  answered  the  old  woman  courte- 


122  THE   COLONEL'S   REPENTANCE. 

sing.  "That's  right,  you  haven't  lost  your  manners,"  said  the 
Mayor  with  a  smile,  writing  out  for  her  an  order  for  a  double 
portion.  "Emulate  these  old  mammies  and  uncles,  who  know 
their  places,  and  you  will  have  no  trouble.  Next!"  "Ef  ther's 
eny  who  needs  er  double  po'tion  hits  ther  widders  an'  orphans," 
said  a  policeman  gently,  pushing  a  little  woman  in  black  before 
the  Mayor's  desk.  "Whose  widow  are  you?"  asked  the  Mayor. 
"Was  your  husband  killed  in  the  riots? — resisting  arrest,  I  sup- 
pose." "This  is  ther  widder  of  Dan  Wright,"  answered  the  po- 
liceman; "an'  ef  Wilmin'ton  had  er  had  a  hundred  niggers  like 
tiiat,  we  uns  would  er  had  er  diff'ant  tale  ter  tell.  He  was  ded 
game."  "Dan  Wright,"  repeated  the  Mayor  slowly.  "He's  ther 
darkey  that  drawed  er  bead  on  an'  defied  we  uns  ter  the  las'." 
said  the  policeman  pushing  the  woman  away,  and  pushing  an- 
other up  to  the  desk.  But  the  Mayor  neither  answered  nor 
looked  tip.  One  by  one  they  continued  to  come  up  to  receive 
their  orders  and  pass  out;  but  the  executive  looked  them  no 
more  in  the  face,  nor  essayed  to  speak.  The  crowd  slowly  dwin- 
dled away  until  the  last  applicant  had  passed  out.  The  Mayor 
laid  Lis  pen  upon  the  desk  before  him,  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
raised  his  feet  upon  the  desk,  and  fell  into  a  reverie.  The  doings 
of  the  past  few  days  came  back  to  his  mind  in  all  their  shocking 
significance.  The  curses,  the  groans,  the  agonizing  cries  of  the 
bereaved  and  the  dying  sounded  a  hundred-fold  more  volumi- 
nous and  heart-rending.  Then  the  bloody  form  of  Dan  Wright 
appeared  with  hands  uplifted,  eyes  staring  at  his  murderers,  the 
blood  streaming  from  a  hundred  wounds. 

The  Mayor  had  seen  hard  service  in  war,  was  one  of  the  im- 
mortal few  who,  under  the  leadership  of  Pickett,  made  that  gal- 
lant but  futile  charge  at  Gettysburg,  to  be  driven  back  for  a 
third  time,  crushed,  mangled  and  defeated.  He  doubtless  as- 
sisted in  digging  the  trenches  into  which  those  ghastly  remnants 
that  told  of  the  cannon's  awful  work  were  thrown.  That  was 
war,  and  such  sights  had  never  so  affected  the  veteran  as  the  vis- 
ion now  before  him. 

"Avaunt!  avaunt!    Quit  my  sight! 

Let  the  earth  hide  thee! 

Thy  bones  are  marrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold; 

Thou  hast  no  speculation 

In  those  eyes  that  thou  dost  glare  with!" 
The  Mayor  started  up,  opened  his  eyes.     Uncle  Guy  stood  be- 
fore him.     "I  jes'  taut  I'd  drap  in,  Kumel,  but  didn't  speck  ter 


THR  COLONEL'S  REPENTANCE.  12M 

fin'  yer  sleep,"  said  he,  wincing  under  the  Mayor's  abstracted 
gaze.  "Oh,  I  don'  want  nut'n;  don'  make  er  scratch  on  dat 
paper.  I  ain't  beggin',"  he  exclaimed,  as  the  Mayor,  recovering, 
reached  for  his  pen.  "That's  so  Guy;  you  needn't  be  a  beggar  as 
long  as  the  white  people  own  a  crust,"  he  answered,  settling  back 
in  his.  chair  again.  "Well,  what  are  Xegroes  saying  about  the 
uprising,  Guy?"  The  old  man  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  shook 
his  index  finger  at  the  Mayor.  "Le'  me  tell  yo',  Kurnel,  you  na 
Wilmin'ton  rich  bocra,  dun  throw  yo'  number  an'  los';  hear  me? 
Ef  embody  gone  tell  me  dat  dese  people  I  bin  raise  wid,  who  bin 
called  de  bes'  bocra  in  de  worl"  would  go  an'  kick  up  all  dis  ere 
devil,  I'd  er  tole  um  No."  The  old  man  straightened  up,  pointed 
skyward.  "Lowd  deliver  yunna  bocra  when  yer  call  befo'  de  bar. 
Dese  niggers  ain't  su'prise  at  po'  white  trash;  dey  do  enyting. 
But  yunna  fus  class  white  fo'ks — ' 

"Well,  Guy,"  broke  in  the  Mayor,  "it  was  hard  for  us  to  re- 
sort to  such,  but  it  was  in  self-defense."  "Self-defense!  self-de- 
fense!" repeated  the  old  man.  "When  po'  nigger  han  bin  tie,  an' 
yunna  bocra  got  eberyt'ing — gun,  cannon  an'  all  oe  am-nition. 
an'  beside  dat,  de  town  full  wid  strange  trash  frum  all  ober  de 
country  to  crush  dem?  Some  er  dese  men  I  sees  shootin'  an' 
killin',  dars  men  an'  umen  livin'  er  my  race  dat  missed  an'  tuk 
keer  er  dem  w'en  dey  bin  little.  God  er  mighty  gwinter  pay 
yunna  well  fer  yer  work,  Kurnel,  an'  de  gost  er  dem  po'  mur- 
dered creeters  gwine  ter  haunt  yo'  in  yer  sleep.  God  don'  kib 
ugly,  an'  yunna  can't  prosper."  The  old  man  concluded  with  a 
low  bow,  strode  out,  and  left  the  Mayor  alone  with  his  thoughts. 


124  TECK  PKRVIS,   THE   LEADER. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


Teck  Pervis,  the  I^eader.  j 

"Come,  stan'  back,  men!     I  led  you  uns  this  fer,  an'  kin  lq 
you  through.     I'm  goin'  ter  lead  the  way  ter  ther  Mare's  omfz 
Poller  me!"     A   crowd  of  disappointed  poor  whites,   who  hi, 
assisted   in  restoring  white   supremacy  and  who  had  not  be«; 
^treated  fairly  in  the  distribution  of  the  spoils,  had  gathered  up' 
■■  the  City  Hall  steps  in  Wilmington  to  state  their  grievances  ujn 
I  have  them  adjusted.     Teck  Pervis,  the  chairman  of.  White.  §b 
premacy  League  of  Dry  Pond  and  leader  of  the  raiders  on  tl, 
ioth  of  November,  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd  and  face, 
the  Mayor,  who,  seeing  them  approaching,  had  sent  forward  ,i 
platoon  of  police  to  intercept  them,  but  without  effect.     "I  say, 
Mr.  Mare,"  said  the  leader,  fumbling  with  his  hat,  "we  uns  hei.rd 
that  you  sont  orders  fer  us  ter  turn  in  our  guns."     "I  did  give 
such  orders,''  returned  the  Mayor  calmly.     "Le'  me  tell  yer,  Mr. 
Mare,  you  uns  ain't  filled  yer  contract  wid  we  po'  uns,  an'  ther 
hain't  er  goin'  ter  be  eny  turnin'  in  guns  tell  yer  do."     "State 
your  grievance,"  commanded  the  Mayor,  in  a  tone  that  betrayed 
the  ugliness  of  his  temper.     "You  hain't  carried  out  yer  promus 
by  a  jug  full,"  said  Teck.     "We  uns  have  ter  have  ther  pintin'  er 
half  er  ther  new  officers  in  ther  city.    We  uns  war  ter  be  giv'n 
these   big-bug   niggers'    houses,    churches   an'   so   on.     Nigge:  - 
places  in  ther  sto'es  an'  every  whar  was  ter  be  giv'  ter  we  uns. 
Now,  drot  my  hides,  ef  these  things  air  takin'  shape  zactly  t 
suit  we  uns.     Now,  we  want  satisfaction."     "Well,"  said  the  Ma) 
or,  "we  thank  you  gentlemen  for  your  zeal  in  helping  us  to  ri 
Wilmington  of  radical  rule,  but  we  are  sorry  that  you  misunde 
stood  us  in  regard  to  spoils  and  so  forth.     We  can't  take  fro- 
the  Negro  his  property  and  give  it  to  you,  but  in  cases  where  ' 
has  been  timid  enough  to  give  it  up  (and  we  have  had  instanc 
of  the  kind)  we  have  sustained  the  white  man.     As  many  c,f  t 
merchants  as  could  consistently  do  so  have  discharged  their  \, 


TECK  PEkVIS,  THE  LEADER.  125 

lp  and  put  on  whites.  But  complaints  are  coming  in  to  me 
at  you  can't  do  their  work;  that  it  often  takes  two  white  men 
i  perform  one  Negro's  task.  Good  and  reliable  colored  help  are 
aving  the  city  in  alarming  numbers,  and  we  must  call  a  halt, 
r.  Skidmore  tells  me  that  he  tried  a  few  whites  at  his  mill  a  few 
lys  ago  and  the  result  was  most  unsatisfactory.  They  couldn't 
tunt  and  pile  the  lumber'  and  run  the  saws,  and  the  scheme  is  a 
;ad  loss.  What  are  we  to  do?  We  have  given  you  the  street 
ork,  and  the  police  force  is  full.  You  men  are  not  sufficiently 
iucated  to  fill  clerical  positions,  and  even  if  you  were,  we  must 
serve  them  for  the  first  families,"  concluded  the  Mayor,  with  a 
nighty  lift  of  his  head.  "Now,  Mr.  Mare,  yo'  speech  is  all  right 
ough,  but  it  don't  suit  we  uns  ernough  ter  give  up  ther  guns. 
»Ve  wenf  back  on  our  colored  frends  ter  giv'  yo'  'ristocrats  ther 
7(5v'ment,  and  we  uns'll  combine  wi'  ther  colored  men  an'  take 
it  from  yer,  see?" 

Teck  Pervis  turned  and  faced  the  men  who  stood  like  a  wall  at 
his  back.  "Gentermen,  go  home  an'  keep  yer  guns  an'  yer  pow- 
der dry,  for  vo'll  need  'em!  Good  day,  Mr.  Mare!"  He  followed 
.md  addressed  his  men  from  the  steps  of  the  City  Hall. 

"Gentermen,  we  pu'  .down  nigger  rule  on  the  tenth,  the  nex' 
move  mus'  be  ter  let  ther  'ristocrats  know  thet  the  one  gullus 
boyS  air  indowed  by  God  wi'  ther  same  rites  as  they  air.  We  po' 
iiiis'll  have  er  show,  er  break  up  the  whole  thing.  Go  home,  boys, 
and  be  ready  to  rally  when  ther  order's  giv'!" 


REV.  JONAS  MELVIN,  RESIGNS. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


Rev.  Jonas  Melvin,  Resigns. 

"I've  bin  er  readin'  ther  Scripter  an'  rastlin'  w?  tlier  Lord  in 
prayer  fer  lo  these  meny  ye'rs,  an'  hain't  never  seed  er  time  when 
I  tho't  thet  er  preacher  of  ther  word  was  jestified  in  j'inin'  in  with 
sinners  in  devilment.  Thar's  no  use  in  talkin'.  Brother  Melvin 
mus'  wine  up  his  kareer  in  Free  Will  Church."  Mrs.  Aamanda 
Pervis  was  addressing  the  alcove  to  Deacon  Littleton,  as  arm  in 
arm  they  proceeded  toward  the  church  a  few  evenings  after 
Thanksgiving  Day.  Ever  since  the  massacre  she  had  been 
busily  trying  to  awaken  sentiment  in  the  church  against  the  pas- 
tor", who  on  that  fatal  day  had  stood  with  Dr.  Jose  upon  the  fir- 
ing line  to  shoot  down  his  fellow  citizens  of  color.  The  deacons 
had  waited  upon  Jonas  Melvin  and  informed  him  of  what  was  be- 
ing done,  and  had  advised  him  to  tender  his  resignation  and  get 
out;  but  he  preferred  coming  before  the  church  and  "quitting 
honorably,"  as  he  termed  it.  Mrs.  Pervis  had  worked  so  earnest- 
ly that  the  church  was  crowded  to  the  doors  on  that  evening.  It 
was  Deacon  Littleton  who  called  the  meeting  to  order  and  stated 
its  purpose.  "Brethren  an'  sisters,"  he  began,  "the  loth  of  No- 
vember was  to'  the  people  of  this  community  a  tryin  time.  It 
was  a  war  which  many  of  us  felt  justifiable  in  enterin',  but  there 
was  no  justification  in  it;  it  was  the  work  of  the  devil.  If  we 
had  got  on  our  knees  an'  kept  our  eyes  fixed  upon  the  things  of 
God,  such  a  deed  as  has  disgraced  this  community  would  not 
have  happened.  I  wonder  what  the  Negro  thinks  of  us  now? 
Does  he  think  we  air  the  banner  carriers  of  Christian  civiliza- 
tion? Orphans  are  cryin",  widows  are  moanin',  a  paradise  has 
been  turned  into  hell  by  a  people  calling  themselves  a  superior 
people.  Christians  and  sinners  have  gone  hand  and  hand  into 
this  evil.  We  don't  know  whether  any  other  church  has  felt 
in  duty  boun'  to  sift  its  membership,  an'  reprimanded  the  guilts. 
but  Free  Will  Baptist  Church  feels  it  her  indispensable  duty  n> 
do  so,  an'  we  are  sorrv  to  say  that  the  first  case  we  are  pained  to 


REV.  JONAS    MELVIN,  RESIGNS.  1:7 

try -is  that  of  our  pastor,  Rev.  Jonas  Melvin,  who,  on  the  loth  of 
Xovembcr,  1898,  stood  with  gun  in  hand,  assisting  the  devil  in  his 
work."  Turning  to  the  minister,  who  sat  all  the  while  with 
head  bowed,  the  deacon  concluded:  "Brother  Jonas  Melvin. 
have  you  anything  to  say  to  this  charge,  why  it  should  not  be 
sustained,  and  you  be  disrnissed  from  this  church?" 

Rev.  Jonas  Melvin  arose.  "Brethren,"'  he  began,  "this  work 
began  in  the  church;  church  people  laid  the  plans  and  led  in  the 
execution  of  those  plans.  Those  men  who  waited  upon  the  Gov- 
ernor to  persuade  him  to  keep  the  troops  away  that  the  mob 
might  execute  its  work  unmolested,  were  leading  church  men 
and  ministers  of  the  gospel."  "They  were  no  Christians!"  cried 
a  feminine  voice.  "I  thought  I  was  doing  my  duty  as  a  Christian 
in  assisting  in  restoring  good  government  to  the  people  of  this 
town,  and  if  I  have  done  wrong,  the  Lord  is  my  judge."  Mr. 
Melvin  sat  down.  "The  state  of  things  as  they  existed  in  Wil- 
mington did  not  justify  the  taking  of  a  single  life,"  said  a  brother. 
rising,  "and  many  a  man  has  been  made  to  stumble  by  the  deeds 
cf  professing  Christians  in  this  riot;  and  while  I'm  on  my  feet. 
1  move  that  the  resignation  of  Rev.  Jonas  Melvin  from  the  pas- 
torate of  this  church  be  demanded."  "Secon"  ther  motion!"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Pervis.  jumping  to  her  feet.  "An'  I  wish  ter  sa;» 
jes'  here  that  Teck  Perns,  who  perfessed  religion  las"  year,  has 
jes'  gone  back  to  ther  deval  bekase,  ses  he.  the  preacher?  war  in 
this  thing.  Preachers  whose  ban's  air  full  er  blood  air  not  fit 
ter  handle  ther  word  er  God." 

The  motion  was  carried  with  but  few  opposer>  Mr.-.  Pcr\ -;.- 
fell  light  enough  to  fly  away  that  night  as  she  walked  home- 
ward,* for  she  had  carried  the  church  with  her  for  God  and  the 
right.  She  hugged  the  arm  of  Deacon  Littleton  with  painful 
tenacity  as  they  both  strode  homeward  together.  '"Think  of 
;hem  po*  creeters  drove  frum  ther  homes  ter  suffer  an'  die  by 
men  claimin'  ter  hev  religion.  Jonas  Melvin  mus'  go  back  ter 
Georgy  whar  the  people  air  in  leeg  wid  ther  deval:" 


liS  BILL   SIKES. 


CHAFfER    XX. 


Bill  Sikes. 

Bill  Sikes  was  a  man  who  always  looked  ahead  and  wisely  pre- 
pared for  declining  years.  Bill  was  a  carpenter  by  trade,  and  by 
thrift  and  industry  saved  money,  bought  land  and  built  houses 
upon  it,  so  that  he  might  leave  comfortable  homes  for  his  many 
'  children.  When  the  calamity  came  which  incapacitated  him  for 
further  usefulness  he  had  come  into  possession  of  a  whole  block 
in  the  portion  of  the  city  known  as  "New'Town."  His  prosperity 
did  not,  however,  lessen  his  activity;  he  forgot  that  he  was  get- 
ting old,  for  his  limbs  were  yet  supple  and  his  eyes  perfectly  clear. 
He  measured  off  his  lumber  and  drove  nails  with  the  strength  and 
accuracy  of  a  young  man;  yet,  as  death  lurks  in  every  passing 
breeze,  feeling  well  is  no  evidence  of  sound  health  or  assurance  of 
long  life.  Bill  Sikes  seldom  complained.  Steady  habits  had 
made  him  vigorous  and  confident ;  but  one  morning  his  fond  wife 
stood  in  the  door  and  watched  him  as  with  head  erect  and  firm 
step  he  strode  away  to  his  wotk,  only  to  be  borne  back  to  her  at 
noon  a  helpless  paralytic.  "What's  the  matter,  William?"  she 
asked  tenderly,  as  loving  hands  lay  him  upon  the  lounge  before 
her.  But  the  tongue  which  had  bid  her  good-bye  so  fondly  that 
morning  could  not  utter  a  word,  and  the  eyes  that  had  gazed  so 
sweetly  into  hers  bespoke  the  bitter  anguish  of  his  soul  as  they 
stared  vacantly  at  her.  "He's  done  fer,"  said  one  of  the  men. 
rubbing  his  eye  with  the  back  of  his  hand.  "The  doctors  seen 
him  and  says  he  ain't  fer  long."  "Speak  to  me,  William,"  cried 
Mrs.  Sikes,  bending  low  and  pressing  her  cheeks  against  her  hus- 
band's. He  raised  his  arm  to  caress  her,  but  it  fell  again  to  hi- 
side. 

But  Bill  S'kes  did  not  die;  he  rallied:  the  lost  strength  grad- 
ually  came  back  to  his  palsied  limbs  sufficiently  to  enable  him  to 
hobble  around,  and  his  tongue  became  light  enough  to  utter 
words  that  could  be  understood  with  difficulty.    Full  and  complex 


BILL  SIKES.  129 

recovery  was  impossible,  however;  he  was  a  child,  helplessly 
clinging  to  his  wife,  whose  burden  was  increased  tenfold  with 
the  larger  children  all  away  and  management  of  everything — the 
looking  after  their  little  store  and  other  property  upon  her  shoul- 
ders; she  felt  that  God  had  tried  her  as  no  other  soul  had  been 
tried.  The  property  of  Bill  Sikes  had  for  a  long  time  been  cov- 
eted by  his  white  neighbors,  but  even  extortionate  offers  had  been 
refused.  But  the  ioth  of  November  offered  a  favorable  oppor- 
tunity for  the  covetous  to  bulldoze  black  men  who  owned  valua- 
ble real  estate  into  selling  it  at  any  price,  and  Mrs.  Sikes  was  one 
of  that  number  whose  experience  had  turned  their  love  for  the 
dear  old  home  into  hate.  She  had  witnessed  the  killing  of  a  poor 
wretch  right  in  front  of  her  door,  within  a  stone's  throw  of  his 
home;  had  heard  the  agonizing  wails  of  his  wife  and  children — a 
sight  which  she  had  never  expected  to  witness  in  Wilmington. 
The  roar  of  cannon  and  musketry,  the  yells  of  frightened  women 
and  children  kept  her  poor,  helpless  husband  in  constant  terror, 
hanging  on  to  her  skirts  like  a  babe.  And  now,  although  weeks 
had  passed  since  that  fatal  day,  the  native  white,  emboldened  by 
re-enforcement  and  the  demoralization  of  colored  men,  kept  up 
the  reign  of  terror.  Colored  women  of  respectability  who  had 
not  fled  the  city  were  compelled  to  remain  prisoners  in  their 
homes  to  escape  ignominious  treatment  upon  the  highways. 

It  was  a  few  mornings  after  Thanksgiving  Day  when  Mrs. 
West  left  her  cottage  on  Campbell  street  and  ventured  over  to  pay 
a  visit  to  Mrs.  Sikes.  "Well,  Henrietta,  how  have  you  managed 
to  live  through  it  all?"  she  asked,  throwing  her  arms  about  the 
waist  of  Mrs.  Sikes,  who  saw  her  approaching,  and  had  gone  out 
upon  the  porch  to  greet  her.  "And  poor  William!  I've  thought 
of  you  oh!  so  many  times,  Henrietta,  knowing  of  just  how  much 
you  were  in  need  of  his  protection  during  these  days  of  trial." 
"Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Sikes,  leading  the  visitor  in  and  bolting  the 
door.  "The  burden  upon  his  poor  wife's  shoulders  is  indeed 
heavy;  but,  then,  our  men  are  unable  to  protect  us,  anyway,  so 
great  are  the  odds  against  them."  "Oh,  Wilmington!  Wilming- 
ton! who  would  have  thought  that  thou  wouldst  be  the  theatre  for 
the  tragedy  enacted  within  thy  borders!"  interrupted  Mrs.  West. 
"Some  of  us,  at  least,  are  too  well  bred,  have  too  much  self-respect 
and  pride  to  stand  and  endure  this  state  of  things  that  exists  now 
in  our  home.  We  could  go  to  church  and"  worship  unmolested 
h.  the  days  of  slavery;  now  we  have  not  been  permitted  for  weeks 
to  hold  public  worship.    They  are  determined  f'o  place  and  keep 


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I- 


130  BILL  SIKES. 

North  Carolina  on  a  level  with  States  further  South.  Would  you 
believe  it?  one  of  our  white  ladies  sent  her  servant  down  to  the 
bandit  Mayor  to  be  whipped  the  other  day."  "Yes,"  said  Mrs. 
Sikes,  "another  went  down  to  have  a  Negro  woman  driven  out 
of  her  own  house  because  she  lived  in  a  white  neighborhood  ami 
the  children  had  had  a  little  trouble  among  themselves.  And  the 
poor  black  woman,  to  remain  in  her  house,  was  compelled  to  get 
down  on  her  knees  and  beg  the  white  one's  pardon."  "Well," 
said  Mrs.  West,  "we  held  a  meeting  the  other  night,  and  I  toll 
the  few  who  had  the  courage  to  venture  out  that  I  was  going. 
Give  me  liberty  or  give  me  death!  I  would  rather  be  a  beggar  in 
a  land  of  liberty  than  a  Croesus  where  my  wealth  will  not  pur- 
chase toleration.  The  colored  citizens  who  own  property  are  At 
very  ones  who  have  been  forced  to  leave  the  city."  "I  have  also 
made  up  my  mind  to  do  the  same,"  answered  Mrs.  Sikes.  "Wil- 
liam is  so  disgusted  that  he  wants  to  go  even  if  he  has  to  sell  our 
property  for  half  its  value.  Then  he  thinks  that  in  New  York  be 
can  go  under  treatment  in  one  of  the  many  great  hospitals  there. 
He  has  improved  so  much  that  he  believes  final  recover)'  possible. 
To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  did  not  believe  that  I  could  become  so 
disgusted  with  my  own  home,  in  which  I  was  born  and  loved  so 
well."  "It  may  all  be  for  the  best,"  said  Mrs.  West.  "Some  one 
hath  sinned — there  is  an  Achan  in  the  camp,  and  when  the  sin  is 
punished  innocent  and  guilty  suffer  alike.  In  our  prosperity  we 
have  strayed  away  from  Him  who  hath  redeemed  us,  and  these 
broken  down  aristocrats  and  poor  white  indentured  slaves  are  the 
Philistines  sent  to  scourge*  us.  And,  then,  we  have  been  slaves  to 
the  idea  that  there  is  no  place  on  earth  for)  us  to  live  but  here  in 
our  home.  The  eagle  hath  stirred  up  her  nest  that  her  young 
.may  scatter  abroad.  Old  as  I  am,  I  will  leave  Wilmington,  trust- 
ing in  God  and  feeling  that  the  world  is  mine,  and  if  I  can't  live 
in  peace  in  one  place  I  can  go  to  another.  But  the  most  impor- 
tant thing  is,  Molly  has  consented  to  go."  "Brave  girl!"  said 
Mrs.  Sikes.  "I  heard  of  her  wonderful  deeds  during  the  massa- 
cre; I  didn't  believe  it  was  in  her.  In  her  new  surroundings,  away 
from  old  associate,  she  will  keep  straight.  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  to  go  finally  to  Cleveland,  Ohio,  my  old  home.  Colored 
women  are  not  so  much  annoyed  by  white  men  in  the  North  and 
West  as  in  the  South,  and  Molly  may  there  be  enabled  to  quit  her 
old  habits.  We  will  see  each  other  before  we  start  away,  as  I 
shall  take  a  steamer,  for  we  may  stay  a  while  in  New  York,"  con- 
cluded Mrs.  West,  rising  to  go.    "It  matters  not  where  on  earth 


BILL  SIKES.  131 

we  may  roam,  there  are  twelve  gates  to  the  City  up  there.  There 
is  no  more  parting,  no  more  persecution,  no  more  separation,  no 
tears.    So  long,  till  I  see  you  again." 

The  usurping  Mayor  of  Wilmington  had  just  disposed  of  the 
last  case  upon  docket,  dismissed  the  court  and  had  settled  back- 
in  his  chair  to  enjoy  the  morning  paper,  when  Bill  Sikes  entered, 
and,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  humbly  approached  the  railing  be- 
hind which  the  Mayor  sat.  He  rested  his  palsied  hand  upon  the 
rail  and  saluted.  The  Mayor  arose,  came  forward  and  extended 
his  hand.  "Well,  Bill,  how  are  you?"  "Mornin',  Colonel,"  an- 
swered he.  "I  come  down  to  tell  yer  I'm  goin'."  "Going? 
Where?"  "I  think  111  try  the  North,  Colonel."  The  Mayors 
face  relaxed.  "Why,  Bill,  you  are  all  right;  no  one's  troubled 
you.  If  all  the  Negroes  were  like  you  we  would  have  had  no 
trouble."  "Yes,  I  know  I'm  all  right,"  answered  Bill,  "but  I 
can't  stan'  seein'  men  who  was  playmates  of  mine  shot  down  on 
the  streets  like  dogs  by  their  ol*  'sociates  an'  neighbors.  You 
know,  Colonel,  I'm  one  who  b'lieved  in  the  white  people  of  this 
town,  an'  was  ready  at  any  time  to  stake  ma  life  on  that  belief; 
but  what  has  took  place  in  Wilmington  an'  what  is  still  goin'  on 
has  converted  me."  "Now,  Bill,"  said  the  Mayor,  somewhat 
moved,  "the  white  people  of  Wilmington  had  to  resort  to  this  to 
restore  the  government  to  those  to  whom  it  rightfully  belonged. 
White  people  must  rule,  Bill."-  "I  ain't  got  no  objection  to  your 
rulin',  but  drivin'  out  black  citizens  who  have  stood  by  yer  an' 
been  always  faithful  to  yer  is  er  grave  mistake.  The  deal  yer 
made  with  these  po-bocra  is  goin'  ter  give  yer  trouble,  Colonel, 
mark  ma  words.  You  ain't  got  no  more  use  fer  po'  whites  than  I 
have,  an'  I  know  it."  "But  they  were  the  means  to  the  end, 
Bill,"  answered  the  Mayor,  with  a  smile.  "A  kingdom  divided 
agin  itself  is  er  goin'  ter  fall,  Colonel."  "Don't  be  a  fool  and  leave 
your  home  because  of  unpleasantness;  remember  you  are  getting 
old;  the  North  is  no  place  for  you;  you  are  comfortably  fixed 
here."  Yes,  Colonel,  I  know  that,  but  I'm  not  goin'  ter  stay  in  er 
place  where  a  d — n  scoundrel  can  insult  ma  wife  an'  I  can't  per- 
fect her,  an'  you  know  there's  been  a  time  when  I  could.  Good- 
bye, Colonel."    "Good-bye,  Bill;  you'll  regret  it  I'm  afraid." 

Bill  Sikes  went  back  home  to  prepare  for  his  journey  north- 
ward. 


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132  A  SHIP  SAILS. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 


A  Ship  Sails. 

When  on  the  evening  of  December  i,  1898,  the  old  Clyde 
steamer  drifted  out  from  her  docks  into  mid  stream  in  the  harbor 
of  Wilmington,  among  the  host  of  passengers  that  stood  upon 
her  deck,  with  tear-dimmed  eyes,  to  bid  adieu  to  the  dear  old 
town  was  Molly  Pierrepont.  Leaning  upon  the  shoulder  of  her 
foster  mother,  whose  heart  was  too  full  to  speak,  she  frantically 
waved  her  handkerchief  and  cried  "Farewell,  old  home!"  Dear 
as  thou  hast  been  to  me,  I  must  leave  thee  for  ever;  for  thou  art 
in  the  possession  of  the  wicked.  The  spoiler  is  in  thy  borders. 
The  blood  of  innocents  has  flowed  freely  in  thy  highways,  and 
the  murderer  and  the  assassin  stalk  abroad  in  thy  streets.  But 
it  matters  not  where  I  go,  thy  days  of  equity,  when  every  citi- 
zen, it  mattered  not  how  humble,  was  free,  shall  ever  live  with 
me.  Days  of  childhood  innocence,  the  shouts  of  the  children,  the 
clang  of  the  school  bell,  the  rippling  of  the*rills,  the  hum  of  bees 
will  be  the  means  of  helping  me  to  forget  thy  latter  days  of  tur- 
moil and  strife.     Good-bye,  old  home!     Good-bye!" 


BILL  SIKES    IN   NEW   YORK.  133 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


Bill  Sikes  in  New  York. 

It  was  near  the  Christmas  holidays,  a  genuine  Northern  winter 
day,  cold  and  piercing,  going  to  the  marrow  in  spite  of  heavy 
clothing.  Francis  Lewis,  contractor  and  builder,  sat  in  his  com- 
fortable office  in  West  Forty-seventh  street,  Xew  York  city,  when 
the  door  was  pushed  open  and  a  light-skinned  colored  man  en- 
tered. His  face  was  thin  and  pinched,  his  hair  and  beard  slightly 
mixed  with  gray,  and  he  dragged  one  foot  as  he  walked. 

"Well,  what  can  I  do  for  you,  my  good  man?*'  said  Mr.  Lewis, 
rising.  "Take  a  seat;  you  don't  look  as  though  you  are  very 
well,"  pointing  to  a  chair  near  by.  "I'm  jes'  lookin'  aroun',"  an- 
swered the  man,  lowering  himself  into  the  chair  with  difficulty. 
"I'm  er  carp'nter  maself."  "Yes?  Where  are  you  from?"  asked 
Mr.  Lewis.  "From  the  South — Wilmington,"  was  the  reply. 
■"Oh,  that's  the  scene  of  recent  riots.  What's  the  matter  with 
those  people  down  there — crazy?"  "No,  but  that  was  the  only- 
way  they  could  git  er  hoi'  er  the  gov-nment,"  answered  the  col- 
ored man.  "The  colored  people  bein'  in  the  majority  of  course 
had  controlin'  power,  but  they  were  always  willin'  fer  the  whites 
ter  rule,  an'  they  did  rule.  But  there  wasn't  offices  ernough  to 
go  'round  to  all  the  bankrup'  whites  who  wanted  political  jobs, 
and  give  the  Negro  er  repersentation  too,  so  they  concluded  ter 
wipe  the  Negro  off  the  earth."  "Shame!  shame!"'  exclaimed  Mr. 
Lewis.  "Then  the  colored  people  were  gittin'  er  Ion  too  well; 
they  had  considerable  property,  and  was  well  up  in  the  trades  an' 
professions.  I  owned  er  whole  block  maself,  an'  was  perpared  to 
spen'  ther  balance  of  ma  days  at  ease,  but  had  ter  sell  ma  house 
an'  git  out."  "You  say  you  are  a  carpenter — house  builder?" 
"Yes.  sir."  "You  mean  to  say  that  you  took  contracts,  planned 
and  built  houses?"  "Oh,  yes,"  replied  the  colored  man.  *T 
never  saw  a  colored  architect.  Say,  George!"  to  a  man  who 
had  Just  entered,  "here's  a  colored  architect  and  house-builder 
from  the  South."    "Architect  and  builder?"  queried  the  other, 


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134  BILL  SIKES  IN  NEW  YORK. 

drawing  nigh.  "Well,  Mr.  — what  is  your  name?"  "William- 
William  Sikes."  "Mr.  Sikes,  are  you  looking  for  work  at  your 
trade  in  the  North?  The  Trades  Union  and  so  forth  make  it  pre- 
ty  hard  for  a  colored  man  to  get  in  here;  and  then  you  can't 
work,  you  are  lame."  "I  am  a  little  lame,"  replied  Bill,  looking 
down  at  his  palsied  arm.  "I  had  a  paralytic  stroke  some  time  er 
go.  I  am  goin'  in  for  treatment,  an'  if  I  git  well,  I  won't  ask 
Trade  Union  an'  labor  unions  no  boot.  Where  there's  er  will 
there's  er  way."  "But  I  am  afraid  you  will  never  recover  suffi- 
cient strength  to  work  again  at  your  trade,  my  man,"  answered 
Mr.  Lewis,  tenderly;  but  you  can  try."  "Good  day,"  said  Bill, 
rising  to  go.    "Good  day,"  said  Mr.  Lewis. 

But  Mrs.  Sikes,  still  vigorous  and  strong,  found  in  New  York 
abundant  opportunities  for  women  to  be  useful.  There  was  day's 
work,  general  house  work,  chamber  work  and  cooking  situations 
to  be  had  without  very  much  effort  on  the  part  of  the  seeker. 
Mrs.  Sikes,  whose  work  had  chiefly  been  dressmaking  and  plain 
sewing,  found  the  new  field  of  labor  quite  irksome.  The  money 
realized  from  the  sale  of  her  property  she  must  not  let  dwindle 
away  too  swiftly;  her  husband  was  helpless,  and  she  must  work, 
and  the  children  must  work.  She  found  the  North  a  place  where 
a  day's  work  meant  a  day's  work  in  full;  there  was  no  let  up;  the 
pound  of  flesh  was  exacted.  So  she  often  tugged  home  to  her 
apartments  very  tired  and  discouraged. 

They  had  been  in  New  York  quite  a  year,  and  Mrs.  Sikes  had 
quite  gotten  used  to  Northern  ways  (everything  seeming  easier 
accomplished),  when  one  evening  at  the  dinner  table  she  noticed 
that  her  husband  watched  her  more  than  usual.  "What's  the 
matter,  William?"  she  asked,  tenderly.  "I'm  awful  discouraged," 
he  said.  "I — I  don't  get  any  better,  an'  hate  ter  see  you  an'  chil- 
dren struggHn'  so  hard  an'  I  can't  help."  Now,  don't  worry 
about  that,  William;  it  will  do  no  good."  "I  was  thinkin',"  he 
went  on,  "that  we  might  try  it  again  in  Wil — "  "Now,  don't 
mention  Wilmington  to  me  again,  William!"  broke  in  Mrs  Sikes, 
sharply.  "If  you  wish  to  go  back  to  that  hell,  I'll  put  you  on  the 
train  and  you  can  go;  but  I,  never!  Life  is  not  so  easy  here,  but 
I  can  walk  the  streets  as  a  lady,  and  my  children  are  free  to  play 
and  romp  without  fear  of  being  killed  for  accidentally  or  pur- 
posely treading  upon  the  toe  of  a  white  child.  I  have  been  free 
too  long  to  endure  slavery  for  one  moment.  Wilmington  is  not 
what  it  used  to  be,  and  I  fear  it  never  will  be.  I  have  just  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  Mrs.  Cole  saying  that  the  situation  has  not 


BILL  SIKES  IN  NEW  YORK.  135 

changed.  On  Castle  street  about  a  month  ago  a  black  child'; 
body  was  found  full  of  bruises.  It  is  supposed  he  was  killed  by 
v/hite  boys  in  sport.  A  young  man  was  called  to,  his  door  a  few- 
nights  ago  and  shot  down  because  he  had  driven  his  horse  over 
a  gentleman's  (?)  dog.  She  says  to  appeal  to  the  law  is  useless. 
She  says  further  that  the  poor  whites  are  preparing  for  another 
raid.  Now,  I  would  rather  live  here  free  in  poverty  than  to  live 
there  a  slave  in  comfort.  The  children  are  all  away,  the  prop- 
erty is  sold,  and  there  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  going."  Bill 
said  no  more  to  his  wife  upon  the  subject;  he  knew  her  too  well  to 
misunderstand  her  words. 


136  MOLLY'S  FINAL  STEP. 

Molly's  Final  Step. 

It  was  Sunday  evening  in  New  York.  Bethel  Church  was 
crowded  to  the  doors.  The  sermon  had  been  concluded,  and  the 
choir  and  congregation  had  solemnly  chanted  the  Lord's  Prayer 
"As  I  looked  over  this  audience  to-night,"  said  Dr.  Henderson 
descending  from  the  pulpit,  I  think  of  the  words  of  the  blessed 
Saviour,  'The  fields  are  white  and  ready  to  harvest,'  so  I'm  goino- 
to  open  the  doors  of  the  church.  Who  here  is  ready  to  make  a 
start  for  heaven  to-night?  Come,  sinner!  God's  not  calling  the 
righteous,  but  you.  There  is  a  prodigal  child  here  to-nightVho 
has  wandered  from  home.  Come  home;  there  is  bread  and  to 
spare,  and  a  warm  welcome  there.  Here  comes  one,  thank  God!" 
A  young  man  went  forward  and  took  the  minister's  hand,  follow- 
ed by  two  others.  "Who  else  will  come?  There  is  some  one  that 
is  almost  persuaded.  Remember  that  to  be  almost  persuaded  is 
to  be  lost.    Come,  sinner. 

"  'Will  you  scorn  the  message 

Sent  in  mercy  from  above?  , 

Every  sentence,  oh  how  tender! 
Every  line  is  full  of  love.' 
"Listen  to  it:  'Every  line  is  full  of  love.'  God  requires  no  prep- 
aration; come  just  as  you  are.  Just  surrender  yourself,  yourself 
to — "  "I  surrender,  Lord."  This  exclamation  startled  the  audi- 
ence, and  all  eyes  were  turned  upon  a  tall  and  stately  woman, 
who  suddenly  arose  in  the  centre  of  the  church  and  started  for- 
ward. This  was  Molly  Pierrepont,  making  the  final  step.  "Poor 
Magdalene,"  she  whispered  as  she  took  Dr.  Henderson's  hand. 
"But  God  is  gracious,  my  child,"  returned  the  minister. 

A  month  went  by.    It  was  Sunday  evening,  and  again  Bethel 
was  filled  to  overflowing;  but,  large  as  that  audience  was,  a  serene 
stillness  prevailed,  for  out  from  the  choir  loft  a  rich  soprano  voice, 
pathetic  and  appealing  in  its  tone,  fell  serenely  upon  listening  ears. 
"Just  as  I  am  thou  wilt  receive, 
Wilt  welcome,  pardon,  cleanse,  relieve; 
Because  thy  promise  I  believe 
Oh  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 
"Just  as  I  am,  thy  love  unknown, 
Hath  broken  every  barrier  down, 
v  Now  to  be  Thine,  yea  Thine  alone, 

Oh  Lamb  of  God,  I  come." 
Molly  has  done  her  part  nobly  and  well,  so  I  close  the  story 
with  Molly. 


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